


Clockwork Heart

by aphaire



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Ardyn is creepy and idk how to tag that, But like. DIFFERENT magic, But they're in this, Gaslighting, Kind of. This has the whole not-sure-if-he's-a-person thing from that trope, Living Doll AU, M/M, MT Prompto Argentum, Mainly bc I'm still new to this and don't know tagging etiquette, Not tagging Nyx and friends until/unless they play a big role, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Surgery, i guess??, maybe? Like..he's a robot. Idk i guess it's comparable to surgery and check ups, mild body horror, these tags are a mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 19:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 55,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15565038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphaire/pseuds/aphaire
Summary: This close, he could see an opening at the top of the automaton’s torso, where the neck and chest and arms didn’t quite connect perfectly. Noctis could see the copper and steel clockwork through the opening, and was fascinated by how pretty it still managed to look.---Prompto is an automaton performer in Ardyn’s travelling show, pretending to be human when in public. Ignis is an astromancer serving the Caelum household, being tutored in the Caelum's more flashy brand of magic.Noctis and Gladio are the ones who kind of accidentally brought them together.





	1. Here's Your Ticket...

**Author's Note:**

> So this is probably gonna be a long-ish running fic, the first one I've done. At the very least, it will be the longest thing I, an inexperienced writer but avid reader, have written. Bear with me here.
> 
> I already know how I want this to end, it's just a matter of how much is going to happen in between. Forewarning that updates will probably be slow, just because of the sheer size of the chapters, unless I figure out how to shorten them. Which imma try to. Cause this chapter nearly killed me. But I needed this all out in one go lol
> 
> That being said, ive already started on the next one, and it's coming along easier than this one did.
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy!

“Hurry the fuck up, Iggy. We're gonna be late.”

Ignis frowned, adjusting the hood of Noct’s cloak for the millionth time since they left the citadel. “Be it marked that, upon this day, Lord Noctis actually cared about being late. An unheard of occasion.”

Noctis swatted his hand away with a roll of his eyes. “You're being dramatic.”

“And you're not taking being incognito seriously enough.”

“I'm wearing the cloak, aren't I?”

“Yes, but you keep letting it fall back from your face,” Ignis’ hand hovered near the hood again, “so it's not doing much good.”

Noctis looked over his shoulder. “Gladio!” he called down the cobbled alley. “Tell Iggy he's being dramatic.”

Gladio took one more look down the street—the one their alley lead onto, the one with the theatre on it—before walking back to them with a shrug. “You should probably be more careful. Just because no one expects us here doesn't mean no one will recognise you.”

Noctis raised a finger. “One, I'm wearing civilian clothing. My hair isn't styled. I'm a mess, no one will recognise me. Not to mention this fucking cloak.” He lifted another finger as Gladio stopped next to him. “Two, like you said, no one knows we're here. There's no ambush planned, dad doesn't even know. Three,” as he lifted a third finger, he raised an eyebrow too, “this was _your_ idea. If you thought it was so dangerous, why suggest it?”

Gladio gave him a haggard look. “Because the show is something else. Yeah, this is a shady part of town, but it's worth it.” He grabbed Noct's hood as it started slipping off his head again, pulling it back roughly. “So long as you don't get yourself fucking killed.” He pulled the hood down over Noct's face, smothering him, and Noct gave an undignified yelp.

“Hey!” Noctis shoved his arm away. But before he could say anything more, Ignis spoke.

“Everything clear?”

“Nothing looks suspicious to me,” Gladio said.

“Then let's enter the theatre, shall we?” Ignis lifted his own hood.

Noct grunted, and they started making their way down the street.

The theatre was a large, old building. Ignis told them all about it; from what Noctis remembered, it had been built about a hundred years ago by some refugees who wanted some entertainment, to help keep spirits high. According to Gladio, they had to stand during the show since the building was old enough that it didn't have chairs. But it was one of the first buildings to have electric lighting in Insomnia—Niff engineers brought the technology over when they immigrated. They decided to make this one building—the one nice thing they had in the district at the time—as nice as they could. It had been a beacon of hope and light (no pun intended) for the district.

Now, the wooden walls were dry and probably rotten. The red paint was faded and peeling, and the windows were bending at strange angles. It looked like a place ghosts would hang out. It was kind of sad, really, how much disrepair it was in.

But that didn't seem to matter to the crowds of people outside. Actually, there was a _lot_ of people. Like, the refugee districts tended to have a higher population density in general, but this was…a lot.

“Big crowd, huh?” Noctis said to Gladio's back, following him through said crowd.

“Told you, it's a good show.” He gestured vaguely. “They know what's up.”

“Is it _really_ that good? What's it even about?” Gladio had been painfully tight-lipped about the show he was dragging them to.

“I told you, I don't want to ruin it. Besides, it's something you just gotta see yourself.”

“It's a romance or something, isn't it?” He looked over his shoulder at Ignis. “He's dragging us to a romance.”

“You appeared rather animated about not being late to the show a minute ago,” Ignis said coolly. “What's changed?”

“If I'm being dragged to some play, might as well get a good seat, right?”

“No seats, remember?” Gladio said.

Noctis ignored him. “I still can't believe he convinced you to sneak us out to this, though. You're taking a lot on faith.”

Ignis lifted his chin. “I trust Gladio's word. He insisted this would be worthwhile, and I must admit I am intrigued to see what all of the fuss is about.”

“If you say so.” It was better than being at the manor, in his opinion. It had been raining a lot recently, and people kept coming to the Caelum household to complain about it. As if they control the weather. Like, okay, some mages can, but it's a risky business. The Caelums refused to meddle with that sort of thing; stopping a flood in one area can make a hurricane somewhere else, or making it rain in a dry area can mean drought for many others.

They'd been doing what they could, in the form of offering flood relief aid to the worst areas and making charms of safety and good luck. Recently, Noct's dad had sent a messenger to the Nox Fleuret household, asking for aid in communing with the storm spirits. They were likely the cause of all the fuss. And if they weren't, the spirits could maybe like…push the storm somewhere else, without huge repercussions. Something would hopefully be done, anyway.

As the trio made their way to the front booth to pay for tickets, Noctis overheard some girls nearby talking.

“Gladio.” Noct swatted his arm. “Gladio, why are they talking about puppets? Gladio.”

“You'll see.”

Noctis looked at Gladio’s back with a mix of betrayal and horror. He looked back at Ignis and mouthed _‘Puppets?’_

Ignis’ eyes looked slightly pinched, but he merely shrugged.

They made their way into the front lobby, pocketing one ticket each, and Noctis saw a sign above a large set of doors. It announced _The Dance of Dolls: Starlight._

“Gladio—”

“You'll see.”

“It's a _doll_ show.”

“ _You'll see._ ”

Noctis threw him an exasperated look, and Gladio gave him a determined one in return. Noctis sighed and waved his hand dismissively. “Fine. We'll see.”

He tugged his hood forward to cover his face more. Suddenly, he _really_ hoped no one recognised him here. Puppets? Dolls? What exactly was this show? _Please_ don't let it be a romance on top of everything else. He didn't know if he could handle watching puppets make out.

Hopefully it was a comedy, and not something that was trying to take itself seriously.

As they waited for the doors to open, Noctis wondered if Gladio brought them to the show to laugh at their faces when it started. His worries weren't lessened when they were let into the theater hall, and he saw no indication of this being a silly show. The purple curtains covering the stage looked very serious and imposing. They hid something behind them that was terrifying to Noctis.

He pushed the image of sock puppets kissing from his mind with a small shudder.

They made their way inwards, pushed forward by the crowd as more people entered. Noctis felt weird, _standing_ in a theatre. The no seats thing wasn't a joke. It also felt cramped and too personal, standing so close to strangers like this. Noctis stepped closer to Gladio, preferring the space of someone he knows. Plus, his guard's imposing stature did a good job of radiating the message “don't get too close”, even with the cloak covering his tattoos.

The lights darkened, and it made it feel less cramped somehow, cooler. He heard the click and buzz and whir of clockwork contraptions in the ceiling working, and watched the heavy curtain move to the sides. The stage was dark, save for a ghostly blue light shining on the center. On their knees in the light was a person with their head and body bowed, their arms laid delicately before them. They wore layers of silk in varying shades of blue, draped over a heavy, darker blue cloak. He peered at them curiously.

Then the show started. And Noctis would later realize that Gladio did, in fact, bring them to the show to see their faces. But it wasn't to laugh at them.

A harp played delicately as the figure began to move. They swept their right arm slowly, deliberately, across the floor in front of them, as if they were gently throwing something away. The silk shimmered, revealing glittering pinpricks that looked like stars. As their arm reached the edge of the light, it stretched outwards. They made a similar movement with their left arm, and the circle expanded in front of them.

They rose on their knees, and a violin joined the harp. It was a high, keening sound, full of sadness. The light continued to expand, revealing smaller figures on the stage, each poised as if they were stopped in the middle of running.

They were dressed in prehistoric clothing, bearing spears, bows, and masks—all except one. The leader wore flowing green garb, shimmering with yellow undertones. They were all about the size of eight-year-olds, but they were proportioned like adults, and they had shiny silver joints. Were these—the dolls?

Noctis watched as they started moving, slowly at first, then faster, like one of those Nifelheim films showing off their fancy cameras. Or maybe like—like wind up dolls shutting down, except reversed, getting faster instead of stopping. The music slowed and sped up to match their pace. The group paused as the leader stopped and inspected the ground, pointed at it, then ahead, and lead them in a slightly different direction.

The cloaked figure tracked their movements, following with their torso as the smaller figures—dolls? Puppets? These were fancier than any dolls Noctis had ever seen, he didn't know what to call them—made their way across the light. As they returned to the dark, the person turned their back to the crowd and lifted their hands towards the backdrop. Pinpricks of light lit up to form a constellation.

“The Huntress,” Ignis whispered, startling Noctis. “Stories claim her to be the spirit who taught humans how to hunt and track. She's said to be among the first to break from the defined roles spirits are born into.” Noctis raised his eyebrows as a new group entered the stage. “She is worshipped by some to be the first Astral.”

“Nerd,” Noctis whispered back, but didn't take his eyes from the stage.

The next group wore similar clothing, though there were more layers and they were decorated more, with feathers and different furs. They ran onto the stage, and one hid behind the cloaked blue person, away from the others. Its body language screamed fear. The music picked up in pace. Drums began beating.

The cloaked person watched them, suddenly very still, as the group ran around around them—him? It looked like it could be a man. He reached a hand out, dainty, helpless, as the group spotted the one hiding. The one stumbled back. The drums beat louder. The group chased after. The one fell. They surrounded it, laughed, lifted their spears, and—

The cloaked figure jerked his hands, and everything froze. They turned away, shoulders shaking. Only the harp continued to play. He lifted a hand and the stage around the group darkened. A spotlight remained only on the cloaked figure. He then turned his hand towards the backdrop again, and a new constellation appeared. His movements were slow, like it was difficult.

The stage lit again, and the dolls were gone. Instead, some props were pushed into stage. Mixed with the changings lights, it gave the effect of time passing. There were some wood displays painted to look like miniature trees and bushes, and a stone hut. The figure continued to gesture at the backdrop, creating more stars.

“That was Caedis,” Ignis whispered quickly. “The first man to be murdered for sport. Some renditions say he was a spirit, not a human. Some say the one leading the mob was the spirit.”

Noctis hummed in response. The music started again, this time sounding lighter and happier. On the stage, a new group entered. They came out of the painted hut—apparently the door worked like a real one, on hinges, despite the building itself essentially being flat. They wore newer clothing, and by that he meant Ancient Solheim type garb. Their hands and jaws moved as if they were talking, but Noctis didn’t hear anything. They passed the cloaked figure, who continued his work, oblivious.

But one of the dolls slowed down as they passed, turning its head to peer at the figure. The other dolls stopped to look at their companion, gesturing for it—him, the character looked to be a man—to follow. He waved them off; they shrugged, and continued off the stage. The figure continued to not notice the doll, preoccupied with making more stars, but the doll walked around him carefully, looking up with fascination.

The doll went back into the cabin, and came out with a flower. Noctis heard some people in the crowd gasp, and tried not to roll his eyes. The doll adjusted his clothes, then gave a thumbs up to the crowd. He hid the flower behind his back as he sauntered up to the figure. He tapped the figure’s arm.

The figure froze and the music stopped. He turned, slow, to look down at the doll beside him. The doll bowed dramatically. Noctis could imagine it taking a hat off to put it on his chest, but it didn’t have a hat so it just did a weird thing with its hands. The figure continued to stare, even as the doll straightened. He offered the flower.

The harp returned. The figure reached out to grab it, slowly, like it might shock him.

From there, the story actually began. Turns out it was, in fact, a romance (Gladio, you bastard). The doll—Noctis decided to call him the lover—would come offering various gifts, and continued to be the only doll who could see the cloaked figure. Dolls kept coming with various obvious problems—broken legs and arms in casts. One even walked up with her head in her hands, to the lover's surprise.

Without fail, he brought gifts to the figure after he was done helping the injured. And slowly, the figure became less shy. He eventually offered the lover one of his scarves, which the lover wore happily.

The figure showed the lover his abilities, making light shift and change. The lover was delighted, and showed the figure his skill in shadow puppets. He used the light the figure threw. They danced together, and the lover played music for the figure as he made new stars in the sky.

Slowly, the appearance of the figure changed. He shed his outer layers, (giving some of them to the lover to wear in a ridiculous fashion), revealing translucent red and orange fabric underneath the heavy blues, as well as rings and bracelets. He maintained a dark hood and a cape, covering his head and torso, but he seemed lighter, happier somehow. More expressive in his movements.

But one day, two dolls with armour and spears came to his hut. The lover opened his door to them, shook his head and shooed them away, and shut the door in their faces when they didn't leave. The figure watched them in worry, until they hammered a piece of paper to the door and left. The figure picked it up, read it, and reached over the hut to pick the lover out from behind it.

He dropped him into the middle of the stage and pointed at the paper sharply. The lover shook his head and shrugged. He opened his mouth, closed it, and went back into his hut to grab his guitar. He came out, sat on a log to the side, and began playing a dark tune. The figure came to sit next to him and the light on the stage shifted to warmer tones.

Other dolls appeared on stage, two groups wearing different armour sets, armed with spears and swords. Other instruments joined his music as the two groups began to fight, a clash of two sides.

The lover led the scene with his guitar—the way he and the figure sat to the side, in a darker area, gave the sense that these were two separate scenes happening. Like the lover was a telling a story. Noctis figured that a war was happening in this world, and had been for a while.

A second lover appeared on the stage—which threw Noctis for a loop for a second. He supposed that one advantage of dolls was that the same model could be duplicated as many times as needed. The second lover knelt and helped some of the fallen soldiers, bandaging them and re-attaching legs and other parts, winding a few up before sending them on their way. He didn't seem to be paying any attention to which side he helped.

Some soldiers came up, offering him a spear, which he denied. But they insisted, and he backed away, continuing to shake his head, his hands up in a placating manner. They grabbed his arm, and he struggled out of their hold. As they stepped towards him again, he turned and ran.

The real lover stopped playing his song, and that section of the stage faded out again. He and the figure sat next to each other in silence for a few moments, the lover’s shoulders hunched.

The figure stood and threw his hood back.

Noctis heard some _oohs_ and gasps from the front of the crowd, and squinted to try and see what the big deal was. Sure, the guy was pretty with his jewelry and sun-like headdress on his golden hair (though he wasn't entirely convinced it was actually a guy, anymore. But he supposed that made sense, given the androgynous nature of most spirits), but it wasn't… _that_ big of a reveal. Like, the guy was obviously gonna take the last blue clothes off eventually. Why were so many people acting like this was a big surprise?

Then the figure dramatically swept his cloak off of himself, the lights flashed and something metallic crashed like thunder, more people gasped, the music swelled, and Noctis noticed Gladio looking at him.

“What?” he whispered. He looked at Ignis, who was peering at the stage with raised eyebrows and an impressed glint to his eyes. Ignis too? He looked back at Gladio. “Why is everyone surprised?”

Gladio rolled his eyes. “You blind bastard.” He put a hand on Noct’s shoulder and pointed with the other. “Look closely.”

Noctis looked. He really did. He saw the figure taking the doll’s hand, and guiding it, teaching his lover to move the light himself. He saw him wrap the hood around the doll’s neck, adding another ridiculous scarf to his collection. He took note of how little clothing the man was really wearing, now, and how shiny some of the jewelry was…wait.

Noctis squinted. “Does he have prosthetics? Or are those just bracelets on his wrists.”

Gladio groaned. “That's a doll too, dumbass.”

“Wait, what? No way.”

“C'mon,” Gladio said, dropping an arm on Noct’s shoulder and dragging him forwards, “let's get you a better view.”

Gladio led the three of them through the crowd, navigating more to the side where there was less resistance. As the people parted around Gladio’s imposing form, Ignis whispered to Noctis, “Look closely at the protagonist's movements. It’s very realistic for an automaton, but it is still stiff in some areas.”

Noctis looked at the figure as he and the lover began a new sort of dance, where they wove the light around each other, together. He could see it now—the jerk to the hands, and the almost overly specific places the limbs stopped moving at. He had just assumed that the dancer was highly practiced, and stopped in the places he’d learned looked best.

“Whoa,” Noctis said, partly for Gladio’s benefit, and partly because he really didn’t have the words to describe how impressed he was with the craftsmanship. This close, he could see an opening at the top of the automaton’s torso, where the neck and chest and arms didn’t quite connect perfectly. He could see the copper and steel clockwork through the opening, and was fascinated by how pretty it still managed to look. Closer, he could see smaller things too, like how the glittering bits on the fingers were not rings, but ball joints. He wondered if the automaton’s face was weird looking, and that’s why they put so much makeup on it—to cover it up—but everything else was so well made, he had a hard time believing that.

How does Niflheim keep making such quick technological improvements? It seemed like only recently that automatons came to Lucis, and they already had stuff like this in production. All of Lucis’ automatons were super basic things, capable of playing a few songs or taking food out of ovens. Nothing this complex. And they certainly didn't look this nice—barely human-looking, mostly just glorified machines, because the ones that tried to look human here were uncanny and scary.

Somewhere between moving to the front and Noctis getting distracted by his thoughts, the two soldiers returned. The figure stepped back, behind the hut, and let the lover take care of them. All he did was flash some light, dramatically throw his hands into the air, and make grand gestures that were maybe meant to be threatening but mostly just looked silly to Noctis and the crowd. It scared the soldiers well enough, though. They stumbled over each other in their haste to get away, one of them dropping their spear.

The figure swept back in and pulled the lover into a hug. The lover’s legs dangled from their sheer height difference, but he hugged the figure back. When the figure pulled away, he was grinning, almost manic. He drifted back to the spear, lifted it into the air, and snapped it over his leg. He threw the pieces to the side, an air of finality to the action.

For a while, things were normal. The lover fixed more dolls, and the figure moved the stars. But this time, the figure performed other magic too—more thunder crashes as he made storms, and fire (represented by coloured streamers) was thrown into the air. Yet the entire time, the music never quite returned to that relaxed, happy melody it played when they danced before. Something changed, but Noctis wasn’t entirely sure what.

The soldiers returned. Only this time, there was more of them. They weren’t scared away by the lover’s show of light, not this time. They bared their teeth and spears, prowling forward. Drums beat. The lover backed up.

The figure stood from where he was sitting next to the cabin, and stepped in front of the lover.

The soldiers continued forward.

The figure threw his arms out, light flashed, and thunder crashed.

For the first time, the other dolls saw the figure. They looked terrified. For the first time, the figure knew what it was like to be seen by many. He looked powerful.

He lifted his arms, the violin drags a long note, and the figure twists his hands to reveal fire streamers. He threw one, and the soldiers scattered, but he still hit one. He went to throw the other, but the lover leaped and pulls his hand back down. The lover looked distressed. The figure didn’t notice, his focus on the retreating soldiers, eyes sharp and expression cold. Noctis watched with wide eyes.

The lover approached the fallen soldier, inspecting her. He took off one of his scarves, and used it as a bandage. She shot up suddenly, seemingly gasping for air. Both he and her looked surprised by her sudden improvement. She barely looked at him before she shoved him away, crawling backwards frantically.

The figure turned his cold gaze on her, and raised his his hand. The lover stumbled forward and blocked her from the figure’s view. He shook his head quickly. The music got intense, and the figure and the lover began gesturing, like they were arguing.

The soldier crawls back, grabs the broken spear from where the figure had thrown it, and hides it behind her. The lover gives up on the figure, exasperated, and turns to walk back to the soldier. As he approaches, she springs up and stabs him.

A few things happened at once. The lover stumbled to the side and falls. The figure threw his hands out and thunder crashed again, the beat of the drums growing into a crescendo. Genuine sparks of electricity burst from the soldier. And for a second, the lights flickered.

When everything stilled, the soldier collapsed in a heap, and the music stopped. The figure rushed forwards, and knelt over the body of the fallen lover, his hands hovering uselessly above him. He pulled the body onto his lap, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

Noctis was blown away by a few things. One, that soldier automaton looked actually messed up. Did they legit blow a fuse in her to make this part look more genuine? Did they actually break one of their dolls to give a better lightning effect?

Two, the human-sized automaton was _actually crying_. Or, well, water was leaving its eyes. But it looked like a real person crying. The makeup smeared down his face in a very noticeable and heartbreaking way.

“Dude, what the fuck,” Noctis whispered, and Gladio grinned down at him. Ignis’ eyes didn’t leave the stage.

The figure raised a hand above his head, twisted it slowly, and the harp returned. The lights dimmed. A new constellation appeared. He then placed his hands back on the lover’s chest. The stage lights darkened around them, leaving only a blue spotlight on the couple. The spotlight shrunk, until the only thing visible were the figure’s hands—which held onto the lover’s chest with desperation. The harp grew into a crescendo, the piano joined in. It sounded hopeful, but sad.

Then his hands withdrew, the spotlight surrounded them both again, and he laid the lover’s body down slowly. The music slowed. He crept backwards, his movements laborious. The spotlight split into two to remain on both him and the lover, though the one around the figure shifted and molded to match his movements. It stayed close to him, barely keeping the dark out, and was blue, like it was at the start of the play. To Noctis, it seemed suffocating somehow.

The figure laid on his side, arms spread ahead of him, legs curled slightly. The light shifted into a crescent to match his shape. It moved off of him, up the wall, and settled among the constellations in the sky.

Noctis blinked. “Did the spirit just turn into the moon?”

“Perhaps,” Ignis whispered back.

“But why—what does that have to do with—?”

Ignis hushed him. “It’s not done yet.”

Noct’s mouth snapped shut. Ignis was right—the piano and harp hadn’t stopped playing. It was gentle, but it hadn’t stopped.

The lover’s hand shifted, then he shot upright. He looked around him, confused. He pressed a hand to his chest, where the spear stabbed him. He looked at his hand, then up at the moon.

Then the lights all turned off, and the music stopped.

The audience clapped as the curtains closed, and Noctis joined, if only to be polite. But he was confused, for several reasons. Reasons he didn’t hesitate to bombard his companions with as they made their way out.

“So like, what, did the spirit die of heartbreak? Or did his heartbreak change him, like how interacting with the lover changed him?” Noctis frowned, following the crowd slowly shuffling out of the theatre hall. “But, like, it changed him into the moon for some reason.”

“Dunno,” Gladio mused. “That’s part of why I wanted you to see it—to hear what you think the story was. Iris and I can’t agree.”

“It seemed to me that the young mage died, and the spirit used his power to bring him back.” Ignis peered over his shoulder at the stage curtains. “Though I don’t fully understand why he would turn into the moon after that. It seems to me that action would take more energy out of him, energy that he wouldn’t have after reviving the dead.”

“Yeah, see, I think he brought his love back by giving him his soul,” Gladio said. “Then his corpse turned into the moon, since this is probably based on an old Niflheim fable and people were poetic as shit back then.”

“What does Iris think?” Noctis asked, squinting as they made it into the light of the entrance hall.

“She thinks the mage pretended to die, because he was afraid the sun spirit would turn on him eventually. Like a pact gone wrong.” Gladio shrugged. “Her reasoning is that the spear didn’t actually stab him, so he must have been faking.”

“They’re actors,” Ignis said with a smile. “Yes, they’re automatons, but they’re still actors. I don’t believe they would potentially harm their gear with a legitimate stabbing.”

“Okay, that’s the _other_ fucking thing I’m confused about.” Noctis tugged them to the side to let people pass, waiting for the hall to clear out. “Did they actually blow a fuse on that soldier at the finale there? And also, what kind of ending was that? What happens after the lover wakes up? Do the soldiers come back? Does he get killed?”

“Whoa, slow down there, short-stuff,” Gladio interrupted. “I’m honestly not sure about the sparks thing at the end there. But the ending is meant to be open—the light spirit didn’t get to see what happens, and so neither do we. But we, as the audience, already know what effect the mage had on the world.”

Noctis stared up at Gladio, bewildered, but didn’t get to say anything before Ignis spoke.

“I don’t believe the sparks were a fuse blowing,” he offered. “They likely had sparklers, or a fuse separate from the parts needed for the automaton—”

“Ignis, I’m sure you’re right, and I know I’m the one who asked, but let’s go back to what Gladio just said.” Noctis pointed at Gladio. “What do you mean we know what effect the lover had on the world?”

This time, they looked at him in bewilderment. “Did you seriously just ask that?” Gladio’s lip twitched in a way that Noctis could tell he was trying not to laugh, his eyes incredulous. “Holy shit.”

“Noctis,” Ignis said slowly. “Do you know what that final constellation was?”

Noctis frowned. “No, why? Should I?” He wasn’t an astromancer—that was much more up his advisor’s alley. It didn’t look like one of the more common constellations, either.

Ignis sighed, and Gladio laughed. “Lucis Caelum,” Ignis said. “The First Mage.”

Oh.

Huh.

Noctis squinted and turned his head. “That wasn’t the version of the story about my super-great grandfather that I was told as a kid.”

“No, I guess not,” Gladio said between laughs, gaining control of himself. “So, what’s your opinion of it all, now that you know that tidbit?”

“Uh, it was good? Like, the production was really good.” Noctis shrugged. “The story, on the other hand…the ending seemed abrupt. And it was complicated without any dialogue. Maybe give me like, an hour to process it.”

“Sounds good to me.” Gladio dropped an arm on each of their shoulders. “So, what do you say to getting food at the plaza nearby? I think it sounds like a good place to theorise about that whole mess.”

“I vote yes,” Noctis said. They looked at Ignis.

Ignis knew the drill and his stern look was already withering before they turned the brunt of their stares on him. “I suppose that would be acceptable.”

“Awesome.” Noctis turned towards the front entrance. “Let’s get some—” He froze.

Ignis and Gladio caught his look and immediately went on high alert. They blocked Noctis with their bodies and turned their eyes to where he was looking.

“What is it?” Gladio growled.

A group of people stood by the entrance of the hall, the woman leaning a broom casually and one half-heartedly sweeping as the last of the crowd filtered out. The third wasn't even trying to look like he wasn't just standing around talking to his friends.

“Are those Glaives?” Noctis whispered. “Those are Glaives, aren’t they? Why are they here?”

“What?” Gladio relaxed, then looked annoyed. “ _That’s_ what that look is for?”

“We can’t let them see us here!” Noctis had an edge of panic to his voice. “Dad can’t find out we went to the Niff district to watch a play when we said we were going to investigate the ley lines.”

“We _did_ investigate the ley lines. They were agitated, remember?” Gladio glanced back at the Glaives. “We were going to tell him we investigated them further, but didn’t find much more out.”

“Okay, but that lie still requires that we don’t get seen here.” Noctis walked back towards the theatre hall doors. He pulled his hood forward to cover his face more fully.

“Where are you going?” Gladio hissed, following after.

“There's gotta be a back exit in here somewhere.” Noctis threw the theatre hall doors open and rushed inside. He looked towards the back, and could see two sets of doors. He strode towards the right one.

“Hey!” Gladio called after him. “Slow down, you don't know where you're going.”

“Noctis, we can sneak past the Glaives with our hoods up,” Ignis said, carefully closing the theatre doors behind him. “They hardly seem to be paying attention to anything beyond their conversation. It shouldn't be hard—”

“One of these doors has to lead out, okay? We just gotta check each and go.” He swung the door open, went to take a step through—

—and ran directly into someone.

“Oof!” the person said, and Noctis yelped as they went down.

Noctis scrambled to push himself up, and found himself looking down at a pale freckled face and blue eyes.

“Ow,” the man said.

“Oh, fuck, sorry—ack!” Noctis suddenly was pulled up by the back of his shirt and cloak by Gladio, who set him roughly on his feet. Ignis swept past them and offered a hand to the fallen blond.

“We’re very sorry for knocking you down,” he said. “I do hope you're not hurt.”

“Oh! No, I'm fine.” The man laughed nervously. “It takes more than that to bruise me.”

Then Ignis smiled at the man and the man smiled awkwardly back and—oh. Okay. Noctis could see what was happening here.

He grinned conspiratorially at the slight blush on Ignis’ face. He knew exactly what he needed to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it through all that without skipping, god bless you. If not, I understand. Sorry if it got slow there. It'll pick up next chapter, I promise!!
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments, concrits or kudos are always welcome : )


	2. ...Welcome to the Tombs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahaha _( :⁍ 」 )_ hahah god why am i making these so long
> 
> I'll be going camping with my family next week, and then class is starting again, so the next update might take a bit. Unless I work on it while camping? Which I might. I'll try to make sure it doesn't take too long, anyway

Backstage, Prompto stretched his joints, checking to be sure nothing was out of place or broken after the performance. He'd messed up in a few performances in the past and had to get repairs, and it wasn't an ordeal he wanted to repeat.

Ardyn wasn't _bad_ at fixing clockwork machines, per se. It was just that Prompto was the most complex thing Verstael ever created, and he was a genius. So there was a lot of guessing involved in repairs, if Verstael wasn't there to help. Which he wasn't. Not anymore.

Thankfully, he seemed to be fine. Everything was working like—well, like clockwork. Ticking away inside him, perfectly, in sync and in tandem. Or, mostly. His wrist had been clicking weirdly lately, making its movements twitchy and stiff. Which was okay for shows, according to Ardyn, because he wanted the audience to know that Prompto was, in fact, an automaton, and not just some person pretending to be one. It's why he wore revealing clothing, to show off the gears and clockwork at his joints.

From a showman perspective, it was fine. From a personal one, it was a problem. It made it harder to hide his mechanical movements when he was in public. He didn't want to be caught and freak someone out, especially not someone armed and dangerous.

It would be really dumb to be discovered over a fucking janky wrist. What a stupid way to die.

Prompto peered at the smaller automatons as they flitted around him, organizing props and sweeping the floor. The theatre employees had it easy when Ardyn’s troupe was in town—they only really had to do the heavy work that the little guys couldn't.

Speaking of theatre employees…Prompto wondered if Nyx and his friends were working today. Although sporadic, their shifts were often enough that he thought of them as friends—though he didn't know if they thought of him that way. It's not like he could hang out with them after work.

Plus, y'know, there's the whole _being an automaton_ thing making stuff weird.

He walked carefully past his fellow performers, trying not to interrupt their work, towards the changing rooms-turned-temporary workshop. He was the only one who used it to change, really, so Ardyn filled it with props, tools, and dolls in need of repairs. He quickly made his way towards his corner of the room, carefully avoiding looking at the motionless, dead dolls around him.

Or, maybe they weren't _dead,_ exactly. Just turned off. Probably.

They were still creepy to look at.

He filed through the small suitcase that held his outfits, pushing past colourful costumes to find his plain travel clothes. He changed his pants, and heard a door click shut as he took off his shirt.

“Going out, are we?”

Prompto peeked over his shoulder at Ardyn. “Not very far, and probably not for long. I wanna see who's working tonight.”

“Ah, I see. Looking for that man and his friends—what was his name again?” He gestured his hand vaguely. “Nit?”

Prompto gave him a small smile and put on his shirt. “Nyx. How do you forget it every time?”

Ardyn meandered over to Prompto and began slowly taking the clips out of his hair. “Must not be a memorable man,” he mused. Prompto started taking his earrings out and carefully laying them on the counter, next to where Ardyn put the clips. As he did so, Ardyn sighed. It was almost wistful, kind of tired.

“Something the matter?” Prompto asked.

“No, no. Nothing at all.” But Prompto looked at Ardyn’s face in the mirror and saw a dark look in his eyes.

Prompto frowned, but he got up and wandered over to a water basin instead of asking again. Sometimes with Ardyn, it was better to pretend not to notice. He took a rag they kept next to the basin, dabbed it in the water one of the other automatons had recently collected, and began cleaning his face. Ardyn came over and held Prompto's hair back.

But then Ardyn sighed again, and Prompto turned to look at him properly. Ardyn didn't take his hands off of Prompto's hair, and instead started carding his hands through it gently. “You missed a spot,” he said, looking at Prompto's face.

“I didn't finish.”

“Here, let me.” He took the cloth from Prompto's hands, dipped it in the water, and began dabbing at Prompto's face. Prompto looked at the tilt of Ardyn’s frown, but still refrained from asking. If Ardyn had something to say, he would say it whether Prompto wanted to hear it or not.

Sometimes it was better to pretend he didn't have a voice box, same as the other dolls.

“I just…”

Here it comes.

“I worry.” Ardyn drew back slightly, damp cloth and hand still resting against Prompto's face. “The theatre workers—they seem nice, don't get me wrong, but…”

Prompto waited, but as the silence grew long and he became uncomfortable with Ardyn’s staring, he decided _screw it_ , and took the bait. “But what?”

Ardyn pursed his lips, and hung the rag on the side of the basin. “Humans are dangerous. You know this.”

Prompto frowned. “Nyx won't hurt me.”

“Certainly not at the theatre, no. Too many people around, too many dolls to report his actions.”

“But he's not—he wouldn't—”

“You don't know that he wouldn't, not truly. No one _expects_ betrayal. Only those you trust can betray you, after all.” Ardyn put his hand up to stop Prompto before he could speak again. “I simply say this to remind you to be safe. What do we say? If they know…?”

“…Don't go.” His voice was quiet.

Ardyn nodded. “Remember not to leave with them. They may seem friendly now, but who knows how they'll behave when you're alone.” He sighed. “I hope I don't have to remind you of what happened to the last stars of this show.”

Prompto blinked away the sudden feeling of tears in his eyes. “I know not to leave with people who know what I am.”

“I know, darling. I apologize for bringing this up.” He caressed Prompto's cheek. “I simply do not wish to lose you.”

Prompto nodded, but didn't speak.

Ardyn brushed his hand across the side of Prompto's face, thoughtful. “I know you like going out. Tomorrow—we can go to the park. How's that sound?”

“That’s…” His voice faltered. “It sounds good. Thank you.”

He didn’t say that he didn’t like going out with Ardyn because the man made everything feel different. He didn’t say that the man always cut the park visits too short. And he definitely didn’t say that he’d been sneaking out at night to wander the parks for hours, just to enjoy the breeze and the rain and the nature, without Ardyn's knowledge.

Instead, he grabbed his heavy jacket and gloves, putting them on to cover the joints in his fingers and arms. He took a scarf and wrapped it around his neck, pulling the collar up over the scarf a bit, to help it stay in place. That was the most important place to cover—everywhere else could be explained as fancy prosthetics, if someone catches sight. The neck, though? No one's gonna buy that he has a prosthetic spine.

Prompto purposefully didn't look too closely at his reflection, lest he see the resemblance in his outfit to Ardyn's usual getup. He adjusted the jacket one last time, and headed into the side hallway.

He considered his choices, and figured that Nyx would either be out front waiting for the entrance hall to clear out (procrastinating), or he'd be in the theatre sweeping up after the by-now exited patrons (actually working). Either way, it would be safer to just pass through the theatre and not risk missing him.

Prompto turned on his heel, and walked quickly away from the blank-eyed doll that entered the hallway after him.

He wondered if the others saw the crowd that came in this time—it was still getting bigger. It was kind of surprising how popular the show was getting, honestly. But more importantly, Crowe and Nyx were great at making up stories about the patrons they spotted, particularly the unique-looking ones. The stories were great by themselves, but Libertus’ outrageous laughter was infectious, and made them even better. Plus, Prompto wanted to see what they thought of the one guy with several broken clocks on his hat.

Like c'mon, was that some sort of fashion statement? What even was that. City folk are weird.

He pushed open the door, but stumbled when it flew open with much less effort than he expected, twisted to try to catch himself, ran into something, scrambled for purchase on said thing, and ended up pulling it back onto his body as he fell.

That something was heavy, yelped when it landed on him, and knocked the wind out of him with an “Oof!” that Prompto definitely did not mean to say.

He mentally checked to see if anything felt weird—any gears or wires out of place after the fall—but he seemed fine. He blinked at the thing on him—a young man, around what the real Prompto’s age had been, with blue eyes and dark hair.

Said eyes were staring at him widely, and Prompto remembered that humans feel pain. “Ow,” he said.

The eyes turned more worried. “Oh, fuck, sorry—ack!” He was suddenly lifted off of Prompto, like he's flying away, and Prompto barely has a chance to be surprised before someone else is kneeling next to him.

“We’re very sorry for knocking you down,” the bespectacled man said, helping him up. “I do hope you're not hurt.”

“Oh! No, I'm fine.” Prompto laughed, but it came out strange. He felt like everything he was doing had been strange so far, like he was a beat behind how a real human would act. “It takes more than that to bruise me.”

Then the man smiled at him and Prompto noticed that, okay, this guy was actually kind of pretty? In a kind of—nerdy, hard to explain way. Prompto smiled back, which felt like the right thing to do, but—it still felt weird somehow. Awkward. Like an imitation instead of a real thing.

Or maybe he just felt like his smile couldn't compare to the beauty of this man's.

Okay, he decided, what would Nyx and friends do here? They're good at acting like normal people. Probably.

“So,” he threw a thumb over his shoulder and looked over at the dark haired one. “You’re aware it’s staff only back there, yeah?”

The black haired one’s strangely mischievous smile faded. “Oh, uh—no, we messed up, we meant to use the other door—”

“The other door, which leads backstage?”

His eyes widened. “Wait, neither of these is an exit?” He looked at the big one, and whispered. “Isn’t that a fire hazard?” The big one glared at him.

“Public exit’s out front.” Prompto tried not to smile. “Everyone else has cleared out. Not trying to steal, were you?” For once, he wasn’t _actually_ worried about that. These folks didn’t seem like the type to try stealing dolls to imitate Verstael’s work.

The looks on their faces were amazing.

“No!”

“Oh, heavens no,” the pretty—handsome?—bespeckled one said. “Our companion here,” he gestured at the smaller one, “lead us in here to find a secondary exit, to avoid being seen by a certain group of people.”

“Ah, avoiding awkward social interactions?” Prompto said sarcastically, a laugh in his voice. “That totally makes up for trespassing. C’mon,” he gestured for them to follow, “there’s a loading area back here that leads into the alley. I’ll show you through.”

“Thanks,” the big guy said, putting an arm around the shorter one like he was herding him, and holy shit he had a deep voice. Prompto had no idea humans could sound like that. What the fuck. “Sorry that Noct here’s an idiot.”

“Uh, yeah, no problem.” He tried not to give the guy a peculiar look. “Always happy to help. That’s the Izunia Productions’ way.”

“Nevertheless, we’re thankful for the assistance,” handsomepretty-bespeckled said. “And we apologize for the inconvenience.”

“Yeah,” dark-haired—Noct?—piped up. “We’ll make it up to you. How about you come get food with us?”

Prompto couldn’t read the look handsomepretty-bespeckled gave Noct, but he found himself squinting at him too. “Uh,” he pushed open the last door in the hall, leading into a larger area with a tall ceiling and props from other shows. He spotted a few dolls hanging about before they could hide from sight. “It’s really not that big of a deal.”

“And neither is food.” He pulled big-guy’s arm off his shoulders. “It’s the least we can do.” He shot big-guy a look, and they seemed to be talking with their eyes—that was something Prompto was never good at understanding. Libertus and Crowe did it all the time, and he always felt like he missed something.

“Yeah,” big-guy said slowly. “We were just planning on heading to the plaza nearby, so you won’t be going far. You can get back to work real quick.”

Prompto paused in front of the door to the alley, hand resting on the handle. The plaza—Prompto had been there before, but generally stuck to the sides and out of sight. He liked people-watching there; it was smaller than the park, but it was more bustling and lively. He always liked the energy of the plaza, how much could happen in one short hour. It felt so alive.

Being in the middle of it all—a part of the crowd instead of an observer—sounded…nice.

Ardyn’s voice echoed in his head. Tales of dolls being broken and stolen. Warnings that strangers are dangerous. That humans are dangerous. That friends are dangerous. ‘ _If they know, don’t go_.’

But. They don’t know. And it’s a public place. It’s nearby.

He looked back at them. “Yeah, actually, you know what?” He pushed open the door to cloudy sunlight. “That sounds great.”

 

* * *

 

Prompto took the lead since the others didn’t know the way very well, despite being the ones who invited him along. They introduced themselves as they walked, and he wondered if those were their real names—they were kinda strange names, but maybe they were normal in Insomnia?—before remembering that he goes by Prompto. He’s not one to talk, either way.

He slowed down to pet a dog (and to talk with the little girl who was walking it about how green the rain was making everything), when he heard the others whispering a few steps to the side.

“Why did you invite him along?” Ignis whispered. He sounded agitated—jittery? Prompto wasn’t sure. It made Prompto feel like he was shrinking, though. “We could have left it at an apology.”

“He just didn’t want to go back to the Cit—back home,” Gladio said. “An unexpected guest will probably make dinner take longer.”

“I dunno, maybe I just wanted to be nice,” Noct answered. “Or maybe I just think he’s cute. Really your type, huh?”

Prompto looked back in time to see Noct elbowing Ignis, and to see Ignis blush.

Prompto felt like he was shrinking again, for a different reason this time. Noct’s words would be exciting, if Prompto were a human, and could have relationships. If he weren't stuck with this body. If he didn't belong to Ardyn. If he weren't so...painfully nothing.

So he tried to forget that he heard anything, and to not be flattered by the idea that anyone found him cute. None of it mattered, in the end.

He waved at the girl and her dog as they walked away. “Hey,” he stood up and turned to them, plastering a smile on his face, “that was the cutest dog in the entire world, and you guys just missed your only chance to pet it.” He clutched a hand to his chest. “My heart breaks for you.”

They gave him looks of varying degrees of amusement. “It was just a dog,” Gladio said.

“For shame, you don’t know what you’ve missed.”

“Yeah, not like it was a cat or anything.”

Prompto looked at Noct, feigning horror. “All of the Astral’s children are beautiful, Noct! Love cats and dogs equally, so the Great Mother decreed.”

“I really don’t think she did.”

“Actually,” Ignis adjusted his glasses, “she did. Though not quite in those words.”

Noct gave him a look. “You’re never on my side with these things, are you?”

“Only when you’re right.” Ignis looked at him steadily. “On the rare occasion it happens.”

Prompto laughed at the look of outrage on Noct’s face. “C’mon,” tugged on Noct’s cloak and grinned at Ignis, “we’re almost there. No more distractions!”

“You’re the one who stopped,” Noct mumbled, but followed anyway.

Prompto put a skip to his step, and he probably looked goofy, but he didn’t care. He focused on the genuine excitement he felt as they approached the plaza, on making that emotion overtake anything else. There were so many things to be excited about, so that was easy enough. The air smelled of Galahdian spices mixed with the smell of the baked sweets of Niflheim, which meant they were close. And these people seemed really nice—he was looking forward to talking to them, at least for awhile. Also, he was _outside_ , in a city, which was always exciting. He could focus on those feelings instead of other thoughts. He could do this.

They reached their destination, and Prompto took a moment to enjoy the view.

The plaza was more colourful than the theatre street only a few blocks over. The ground was made of bricks varied in shade, instead of simple cobble roads, and set up in spherical patterns surrounding the fountain in the center. There were potted plants everywhere. Some people were even trying to grow vines on their shops, along the awning and down the walls. The Galahdian influence on the plaza was obvious, it being somewhat in the middle between the Niff and Galahd districts. Mix their love of colours and the Niff’s penchant for lights, hanging or otherwise, it had a delightful effect overall. He just wished it had more trees, and were a little less cramped.

Prompto grinned over his shoulder. “What do you guys want?”

“Something with meat,” Gladio said at the same time that Noct declared “No vegetables.”

They grinned at each other and Ignis gave Prompto a quick but long-suffering stare. “You need to eat vegetables, Noct.”

“Nah,” Noct said, and his tone surprised Prompto into a laugh.

“How about _some_ vegetables?” Prompto offered, covering his smile with his hand. Noct made a face.

“How about,” Gladio draped an arm over Noct’s shoulder, “no green vegetables? Carrots, tomatoes, et cetera, are free game. No leaves or sprouts.”

Noct shrugged under the weight of his friend's arm. “If it means no beans, I'm game.”

“Not all beans are green, Noct.” Ignis sighed, then addressed Prompto. “Do you have any preference for where we visit?”

“Oh! Uh no, I'm good for whatever.” Prompto tried for a charming smile, but it probably fell flat. Ardyn always said he wasn't good at acting natural. “Besides, you're the ones treating me. You can pick the place.”

“I see.” Ignis adjusted his glasses. “Do you have any recommendations, then?”

“Ah.” Prompto's smile faded. “No, I, uh—” He can't taste food. “I-I've never actually eaten here before.” That wasn't a lie. “I don't come here much.” _That_ was.

“That's fine,” Gladio was quick to reassure. “We can just follow our noses to someplace good.”

“Oh. Okay. Cool. Yeah.” He looked away from them, around the crowded plaza. “Why don't you guys go get what you want, and I'll find someplace we can all sit.”

“You don't wanna eat inside somewhere?” Noct pulled his cloak tighter around him, as if to make a point. “It's kind of chilly.”

“Big baby.” Gladio punched his shoulder, and Noct shoved him away. “It's not that bad.”

“I mean…if you want to eat inside, we can.” Prompto turned his head to feel the breeze on his cheek, to hear the trees rustling. “I just, I like this weather I guess.”

Ignis hummed. “I don't mind some cool weather, myself. So long as it doesn't rain, eating outside should be acceptable.” He paused. “Additionally, the restaurants are likely busy at this hour. We may have more luck finding seating outdoors. The vendors will likely be less busy, as well, so we can eat sooner rather than later.”

“Fine, fine.” Noct waved a hand. “But if it starts raining, we're finding someplace warm.”

“Agreed. Prompto,” Ignis said as Gladio pulled Noct off towards the middle of the plaza, presumably following something that smelled good, “what sort of foods do you prefer? So I may order something more to your liking.”

Fuck, he had no idea. He liked food that was either pretty or weird looking, just for those reasons and those reasons alone. Some food had weird textures, which were fun to chew on and feel, so he liked them for the novelty of it. And spicy food had a strong enough smell that when it was in his mouth he could almost feel like he was tasting it. But he didn't think Ignis would get what he meant if he described any of that.

What would Nyx say? What was a normal response to that question.

He put on one of his best Nyx smiles. “I'll have whatever you're having. I'm sure you have good taste.”

Ignis’ face shifted into an expression that Prompto was too slow to read before it passed. Prompto tried to maintain his smile and hoped it wasn't a look of annoyance that Ignis was covering up.

Ignis cleared his throat. “Yes, of course. I believe my tastes are—good. Certainly better than that of those two, at least.” He adjusted his glasses. “I will—go make sure they aren't buying anything too terrible. You go on and find a place for us to dine, before it gets much busier.”

“Gotcha.” Prompto gave a thumbs up.

Ignis looked at him a moment longer, before stiffly turning away and delving into the crowd.

Prompto relaxed, and began skirting the edge of the plaza. Gods, he forgot how hard it was to blend in and act normal. _Socialising_. How do people do it? Is this a thing that came naturally to humans? The theatre crew made it look so easy.

Then again, he’d never really seen those three talking to anyone but each other and other theatre crewmembers. Maybe—maybe it was just easier with certain people? It was definitely easier to talk to Noctis than Ardyn. But it was kinda hard to talk to Ignis—though not in the same way it was hard with Ardyn. With Ignis he was more…nervous? It felt like the electricity powering him was thrumming more loudly. It made it hard to focus. Why did he have to be so—pretty? And have an interesting accent.

With Gladio he was just nervous. He was big. And that voice, man. What the fuck.

He spotted a small group leaving one of the tables near the side, and immediately started weaving his way towards it. He couldn’t see other people going for the same one, but he thought it would be better to get there quickly. Just in case.

He dove backwards into one of the chairs, nearly knocking it over, but managed not to by hooking his foot around a table leg. He fixed his jacket, double checked that his joints were all still covered up, and sat back to look at the sky.

The clouds were dark grey, framed by the buildings surrounding the area the tables were in. There used to be a building or two here, but they burned down, and someone decided to clean it up and make a dining area instead of erecting new buildings—the baker next door told him about it once. He could still see some charred marks on the bakery’s bricks. It had a nice look to it—the layered colours on the bricks next to the layered colours of the clouds.

He wished he had one of those fancy cameras that were coming out in Niflheim. Some of them only needed a few seconds of exposure to take the picture—he could probably capture the feeling of what he was seeing without the clouds getting too blurry.

“Hey, Prompto!”

Prompto jumped at the shout. He looked back at Noct, who was waving at him with a kabob in one hand and something wrapped in brown paper in the other. Gladio had something similar, while Ignis had a paper bag, napkins, and utensils.

“You scared me,” Prompto whined.

Noct shrugged. “You were sitting so still, I thought you'd fallen asleep.”

Prompto ignored the flare of worry rising in his chest ( _oh shit, was_ _I sitting freakishly still? Did I accidentally stop breathing? Did he notice? How long was he watching? Did I—_ ) to say “And that...makes it better?”

Noct dropped into a chair and lazed back with a groan, like he just finished running a marathon. “You looked like a corpse, I was just making sure you were still alive there. To jump-start your heart.” He waved the kabob vaguely. “Only trying to help.”

“What Noct _means_ to say,” Gladio said flatly, “is that he's sorry for startling you.” He grabbed the paper wrapping from Noct’s lap and dropped it on the table. “Hope you like sharing.”

“We decided to get a group meal, of sorts.” Ignis laid out the utensils and handed each of them napkins. “There's plenty here, so dig in.” He smiled at Prompto. “This all gets my seal of approval, so I hope you enjoy.”

Ignis went on to explain what it all was—Prompto vaguely registered some words, like parsnip fritters and baked potatoes, Galahdian-style kabobs, something about seasoning and spices—but Prompto primarily was focused on how relieved he was that he wouldn't have to eat as much. With a shared meal, it wouldn't be as obvious if he didn't eat a full meal's worth. And less food meant less cleanup for later, so he definitely didn't want to eat too much.

“It sounds great!” Prompto chirped. “Let's dig in.”

They started eating, and Prompto found that the baked potatoes were actually—surprisingly spicy. So he found himself eating those in particular.

After a bit, the crowd around them filling the silence, Gladio spoke. “So, what do you think the story means?”

Prompto eyed Noct as he tried to subtly take one of the tomatoes off his kabob. “What story?” Prompto asked.

“The play’s story.” Gladio cracked a smile at him. “Y'know, the one you work for?”

Oh. Welp. He’d rather not think about the theatre, but that’s what they’re talking about now, he supposed. “I dunno,” he shrugged. “A spirit fell in love, made mistakes, and died to bring a man back from the dead.”

“So, you think they both died.”

“Uh, yeah?” He raised an eyebrow. “What else could have happened?”

“His sister believes the mage faked his death,” Ignis said.

Prompto's eyes widened. “Whoa, seriously?”

“She thinks that the spirit put his energy into the mage, but since he wasn't actually dead, it gave the mage permanent powers.” Gladio popped a potato slice into his mouth. “It's her theory about why the Caelum line of magic is stronger than other mages.”

Noct groaned. “She's taking this as too much of a real thing, and not a fictional story.”

Gladio shrugged. “Who knows, it might have _some_ historical merit. It would help to know what story the narrative was actually telling, so it would be easier to research.”

Noct muttered something about everyone around him being nerds, but Gladio turned his eyes back on Prompto.

“So, you're the expert here. What's the story about?”

Prompto looked down at the table and picked at his meal. “I already told you what I think,” he muttered. And then, because he realised he was acting distant, he tried to smile at them. “Sorry, I just—I've seen it so many times.” Well, technically he's never _seen_ it, but he's in it, so. “I stopped paying attention. I don't particularly like that sort of story.”

“You don't like romances?” Ignis asked, perhaps trying to change the subject.

“How did you end up working in a theatre troupe for a romantic play, then?” Gladio asked.

“Ah, well. I wouldn't call it a romance, for one thing.” He shrugged. “It's kind of—more of a tragedy, isn't it?”

“Romantic tragedies,” Gladio said, starry eyed. “The best genre.”

Noct frowned. “I thought you liked historical romances.”

“Yeah, and that play definitely has some historical aspects to it. Some of it maybe less accurate,” he shrugged, “but it was still a historic setting.”

Noctis turned a dark look on Gladio. His voice was low. “You brought us to a tragic historical-romance.”

Gladio grinned down at him, and Noct made frustrated noises and complained about Gladio's taste. Ignis very pointedly ignored them, looking at Prompto.

“So, how did you join a theatre troupe?”

The question was innocuous enough, but it made Prompto's heart sink. “A-ah, well, my father knew the director.”

“Oh?” Ignis looked at him with keen interest.

“Yeah I—just needed a place to work,” his voice got unintentionally quieter, “and Ardyn was there to give me some.” Prompto tried not to think about what he was created for, how he was a failure from the start, and _why_ he ended up with Ardyn instead of staying with his fath—with Verstael. “It was nice of him. ‘Bout time I got out of the house, y'know?”

“Perhaps,” Ignis said slowly. He seemed more hesitant. By now Noct’s complaints and accusations were dying down, and he and Gladio tuned back into the other conversation.

“So how long have you been working with this guy for? He good at what he does?” Noct asked.

“A few years,” Prompto answered. “And he’s been…” How would one describe how Ardyn has been? “He’s a good director. Knows how to sway the crowd.” That was the best thing Prompto knew how to say about the man. “He's been good to me.” As good as anyone can expect, anyway.

“What’s your favourite part of working with the troupe?” Gladio asked.

“I gotta say, the best thing about this whole setup is getting to travel to so many different places.” Prompto smiled softly. “It's cool, y'know?”

“I can imagine so,” Ignis said. latching onto this new conversational direction immediately.

He asked about the various places Prompto had been, and admitted to being an immigrant himself. Turned out he wanted to travel more. Noct mused about Tenebrae, the flowers there, saying that Prompto should try to get a show there if only to see the sylleblossom fields (which, honestly, Noct sold him on. He definitely needed to go there someday). Gladio waxed poetic about backpacking in the countryside, which Prompto could get on _some_ level, but he spent so much time travelling in the countryside that it had lost some of its charm. He kept that to himself, though.

Gladio was part way through a story about waking up to a snake in his tent when he was like, fifteen, when a flash of lightning arched through the sky. Just a moment later, thunder cracked and some kid playing in the fountain screeched.

“Well, shit,” Gladio said as the chatter of the crowd became more frantic. People were scrambling to get out of the rain as it suddenly started falling, rather heavily at that. The Galahdians looked on in amusement, continuing their business as usual in the pouring rain.

Noct groaned. “I told you it was going to rain.”

“No, you didn't,” Gladio said, wrapping the food up. “You said you wanted to go inside _if_ it rains. Not when.”

“Well, I thought it.”

“We all did.” Ignis’ tone was the driest thing in the entire plaza. Prompto tried (and failed) not to giggle. “It's been raining nearly daily for weeks now.”

Noct pulled his hood over his face, wearing it properly for the first time since he knocked Prompto down. Prompto was frankly impressed with how he managed to keep it only half on at all times, where it was practically slipping off—it looked uncomfortable. “Can we eat inside, now?”

“That was plan B, yeah.” Gladio hid what was left of the food under his own cloak and stood up.

They were—going inside. “Oh,” Prompto whispered, watching the others get up and head towards the bakery awning.

“What's the matter, Prompto?”

Prompto startled, and noticed that Ignis was looking at him. He'd paused partway, and was still in the rain.

“Oh! Nothing, I'm just. I'm not hungry anymore, so I should probably get going.”

Ignis didn't look convinced. “Perhaps you should wait until the rain slows down a bit. I wouldn't want you catching a cold.”

“I won't catch a cold, promise. I've handled worse than this.” Ignis still didn't look convinced, so Prompto scrambled to give more explanation. “Honestly, I kind of like the rain, so I don't want to pass up this chance to enjoy it.” He gave a big smile to prove it.

“I see,” Ignis said slowly.

“Iggy!” Noct called from the awning. “What's taking you?”

Ignis looked over his shoulder at him, and—pulled an umbrella from under his cloak? “I'll be walking Prompto back to the theatre. You enjoy the rest of the meal and head back home.”

Prompto stared at Ignis blankly. Ignis handed him the umbrella. “Where—were you keeping that?”

“Cloaks can hide much under them,” Ignis said evenly. Then he pulled another fucking umbrella from his back somewhere and walked over to Noct. He handed Gladio the umbrella, spoke to them shortly, and walked briskly back to Prompto.

“What the shit,” Prompto whispered as Ignis joined him under the umbrella again. “Are you like, magic or something? How did you have two umbrellas this entire time and none of us noticed?” He _assumed_ the others didn't know, anyway, based on their faces when he'd pulled the second one out.

Ignis’ mouth twitched. “I only know the magic of being prepared,” he said smoothly, looking towards the main plaza area. “Shall we?” He smiled down at Prompto.

Prompto smiled back. “Sure, let's go.”

They walked through the plaza, which had cleared out quite a bit since the rain started. Some children played in the fountain still—most of them Galahdian, given the beads in their hair. Prompto smiled at the lightning and the feeling of thunder shaking his core.

“A fan of storms, are we?”

“Yeah,” Prompto said, though it came out softer than he intended, more earnest.

“I suppose it's a good thing you're in town during the rain season, then.” Ignis carefully took the umbrella from Prompto, who wasn't paying attention and was swinging it around idly. Prompto smiled sheepishly. “Normally this amount of rain would be unfortunate to visitors of our city.”

“Yeah, no, it's been great.” Prompto swung his arms happily. “Niflheim is weird because it either snows or it's, like, a desert. We don't get much in terms of rain up there, and even less thunderstorms.”

“We don't normally get this much rain ourselves,” Ignis mused. “It's been somewhat of an issue, honestly. But that's beside the point.”

“And what's the point?”

Ignis smiled. “I think I lost it somewhere there. However, I _was_ going to ask if you've ever been to Galahd. It seems like the perfect place for you.”

Prompto sighed wistfully. “No, I wish. But it's an island, and Ardyn hates boats, so we're a landlocked show.”

“That's too bad. Perhaps someday, then?” Ignis asked kindly. “When you're done with the theatre.”

Prompto's heart sank, but he smiled at him. “Maybe.”

In reality, Prompto knew he was never leaving the theatre. But he ignored the feeling of being trapped, and instead focused on the shine of rain on the coble, the smell of ozone, and the feel of the breeze on his cheek. “You ever been to Galahd yourself?” he asked.

“No, but I've heard stories of it from some of its immigrants.” Ignis glanced at him. “I'd like to visit there someday, too. Though my reasons for wanting to visit come from academic reasons, instead of climatic ones.” He paused. “Though, those two matters are more closely related than one might think.”

“Really? How?”

“Well, Galahd is the home of the Stormsender, and is surrounded by oceans that are favoured by the Tidemother. These Astrals have strong influence on the weather there.” Ignis got a faraway look in his eyes. “It's the only country to have two Astrals laying claim to it, and maintains a closer connection to them than anywhere else. I would love to learn how they've managed it—how their cultural practices make such a small, innocuous culture so prevalent to higher powers. It's a fascinating place.”

Ignis was clearly passionate about this topic, and that made Prompto happy for some reason, but...

“I don't mean to sound like a complete idiot here,” Prompto started hesitantly.

“There's no such thing as stupid questions, Prompto.”

Prompto looked up at Ignis in surprise, who was looking at him with earnest eyes. A smile pulled on Prompto’s lips. “Well, wait ‘til you hear my question to judge that.”

Ignis smiled easily back. “Only fools deny themselves the chance to learn more, simply because they were afraid to ask.”

“Well. Okay. I might work in a play about spirits, but I actually don't know much about them.” Prompto put his hands in his pockets. “So, the Stormsender obviously has to do with storms. But the Tidemother is—the ocean?” He gave Ignis a confused look. “What are these Astrals, exactly?”

Ignis’ eyes lit up like the sun breaking the night. “I forgot you were from Niflheim. Apologies. I would be honoured to be the one to teach you of the Astrals which your homeland so often ignores.”

Prompto grinned at the clear excitement Ignis felt at the idea of getting to teach someone about this. “Teach away, Mr. Expert.”

And it turned out Ignis _was_ some sort of expert on Astrals. Or maybe this was all common knowledge in Lucis, and Prompto was an uneducated technical-three-year-old from a secular anti-magic country, but Ignis still seemed to know a lot.

He told Prompto about the power of the two Astrals, Leviathan’s connections to Altissia and Galahd, Ramuh’s preference for Galahd and Duscae, their strained relationship with each other, and how their presence changed nature on Galahd. He was just starting to explain some unusual plant species growing there, since Prompto asked if there were any particularly unique plants or animals, when the theatre came into sight.

Prompto unintentionally slowed down, even though their pace was already about half what it was on the walk to the plaza. Ignis glanced back at him as he fell behind.

“Is something the matter, Prompto?”

“No, I just…” _I want to keep talking to you_. “I want to hear more about the Astrals. There's so much I don't know!” He beamed up ag Ignis. “And you're such a good teacher. Like, the way you talk? It's great. You could make shades of grey interesting.”

Ignis gave a small laugh at that, and that feeling of electricity shot through Prompto again. _I made him laugh._

“We could, perhaps, talk again sometime? Preferably soon,” Ignis offered. “You seem to enjoy the outdoors. Does a walk in the park sound good to you? I believe there's one nearby.”

“Yeah, there is.” Prompto smiled sheepishly. “Just the two of us?”

For once he wasn't asking out of a worry of being outnumbered. He just wanted to talk to Ignis, alone—not that Noct and Gladio weren't fun. They were. But Ignis...Prompto felt different with him. The way he talked made the world make sense. With him, Prompto felt more alive.

He wanted to feel alive.

“Just the two of us,” Ignis confirmed. And, there it was again. That spark of _something_ inside Prompto, spurred on by the fact he could see Ignis blushing ever so slightly. He liked it. He wanted to feel it more.

They discussed what day and time they'd meet there, and decided it would be easier if Ignis just met him at the theatre and they walked there together. Ignis waited to give his goodbyes until Prompto was under the ticket booth’s roof, out of the rain.

Prompto watched him leave as the grey evening slowly turned to night, and watched the street darken until the oil lamps flickered to life. He watched until a doll walked up to him, pulled insistently on his jacket, and he turned and went into the dark building.

Nyx and the others were long gone. Ardyn was asleep. All that was active were the dolls, and Prompto's mind.

He walked past the changing room doors, not bothering to look in at the empty husks or the mirror, into the back loading area where some dolls sat together. A few looked up at him blankly as he entered, but most of them just stared at the ground in front of them.

He sat next to them, and closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: okay, this chapter is about them getting to know each other….but maybe i should write about what Prompto was doing backstage while the others were talking. Just a few quick paragraphs. Just to give us an idea of his routine  
> *1200+ words later*  
> Me: god dammit why am i like this
> 
> So, I considered cutting the chapter at the part where Prompto agrees to leave with them. If I'd done that, I would have uploaded a second chapter about a week ago, and the rest of this woulda been uploaded around now as a third chapter. What are your guys’ thoughts on me doing shorter updates like that, vs longer ones like this? Lemme know!
> 
> Thanks for reading ^-^


	3. There's a Flicker and a Spark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The good news is that I'm actually getting faster at writing, when I get the chance to write. The bad news is I don't get a lot of chances. (90% of this was written on the train as I went to/from class. That is pretty much the only "free" time I have. Ugh)
> 
> Anyway!! Hope you enjoy c:

The date was starting off well, thankfully, despite all the blank areas and stumbling Ignis experienced to get there. He wasn’t one to make spontaneous plans, nor one to make them with someone who is practically a stranger. To combat the blank areas, he'd taken a vague peek into the future, and saw there was a potential for danger today. So he'd taken some minor precautions, taking a first aid kit, some sigils, and a lucky charm, but there were still so many factors that he was unsure about, so he still felt a nagging worry at the back of his mind.

Prompto's fickle nature didn't help quiet those concerns.

For one thing, it was sunny out. This normally would have been a welcome reprieve from the constant clouds and showers, but Prompto said he liked the rain, so Ignis wasn't sure it was actually a good thing.

Secondly, Prompto was still wearing that large jacket and scarf, despite the warmer weather. Ignis wasn't sure what this meant. Was he sick? Did he not have other clothes? Was he just prepared for rain? Or was this just another peculiar aspect to Prompto's personality?

Speaking of peculiar, Prompto was kneeling down next to some flowered vines growing along the base of a house. The buds were pink, and the blooms were white—the flowers in between those stages were gradients between the two colours. He was peering at them intently, like he was trying to memorize how they looked.

Ignis hadn't even noticed them until Prompto stopped. He noticed so many little things, and often paused to admire them—it was making the walk to the park take longer than it should have, really, but Ignis didn’t mind. Prompto even suggested they take a different path to the park than the shorter one Ignis had looked into (another attempt at being prepared that Prompto had thwarted) because he said it was prettier. Although, Ignis hadn’t noticed much of an aesthetic difference along the path.

That is, until Prompto started pointing out what he saw. All the plants struggling to grow in the stone paths and houses (he said it was beautiful how nature found a way, how strong he thought the little things were) and how many children there was around, they way they were playing (Prompto didn’t know what they were doing, but he seemed to like speculating the rules of the games).

Then there was his curiosity, which was new to Ignis, that lead Prompto to wonder aloud what caused some of the cracks in the stone walls, and what kinds of people lived in the stranger houses (“City folks have such odd tastes in like—just everything, no offence,” he’d said. “Like. Are clocks in fashion right now? I keep seeing them. What’s up with that? On hats and houses and in shops...”). These were things Ignis had never considered before, things he never really took the time to notice.

It was all so different from what Ignis was used to, so unusual.

It was incredible to him.

“So, what’s with the basket?” Prompto asked as he stood up, pointing at the woven splint basket Ignis was carrying.

They continued walking. “I packed us some snacks,” Ignis said with practiced nonchalance. In reality, he was nervous—this was another blank area for him. At the plaza, he'd tried to subtly ask Prompto what foods he preferred, so he could win his heart over with home cooking later, but Prompto had smoothly deflected it with a (potentially flirty) compliment to Ignis. It was flattering at the time, but stars above it was a blow to his strategy. He packed a variety of his best snack foods in hopes that Prompto would enjoy some of it. “I hope that wasn’t presumptuous. I am unfamiliar with the size of the park, and am unsure how much time we’ll be spending there. I thought I’d bring some food, just in case.”

For a moment, Prompto had a look on his face like the beginnings of a cringe, but that moment passed and Prompto smiled with a slight laugh. “You’re always prepared, huh? That’s probably a good thing.” He put his hands in his coat pockets and looked away. “But I, uh, have to be back in like an hour, so I don’t think I’ll have worked up an appetite by then. Just ate lunch not too long ago, y’know?” He ducked his head. “Sorry.”

“That’s understandable,” is what Ignis said, but that shift in reactions had him worried. First reactions are always the most telling, and Prompto clearly was covering something up.

And so food became a third factor Ignis was unsure about. Ignis had noticed he didn’t eat much at the plaza, barely one kabob and bits of the other foods. People liked food; Ignis had always been able to win people over with his cooking. But Prompto kept on catching Ignis by surprise, so maybe that wouldn’t work here?

He tried to think of something to change the topic. “Is the next show really so soon? You only just closed the morning one.”

“Not exactly, the next one's at four.” Prompto shrugged. “But there’s a lot of setting up that has to happen before we go on—fixing the dolls, fixing outfits, making sure the lights are all working still, checking and double checking things. It can take hours if something’s wrong—and things _do_ go wrong, especially with how old the wires and stuff are in that building.”

“It really takes so long?” Ignis was surprised. “How many people do you work with?”

“There's only Ardyn.”

“You and Ardyn are the only two people in the crew?” Now Ignis was _really_ surprised. “How in the world do you manage?”

Prompto looked startled, and then laughed uncomfortably. “Right, yeah, me and Ardyn. Only two people in the crew.” He started fidgeting with his gloves. “The dolls help. They do most of the work, really.” He had a weird look on his face when he said that, which Ignis tried to understand.

“Is it strange?” he asked, guessing at what might have caused it. “Working with so many automata, travelling with so few people?”

“Yeah,” Prompto said, and his voice got quiet enough that Ignis wasn’t certain he was meant to hear the next words. “For reasons you can’t begin to guess.”

Ignis peered at him, at how still his face seemed. It wasn’t quite slack, or relaxed, or distant, it just looked—empty. “Are you well?” Ignis asked slowly.

Prompto blinked, looked over at him with owlish eyes. Then he broke into a smile that could have been forced, but it didn’t look noticeably different to his previous smiles, which confused Ignis. “Oh, yeah, for sure! Sorry about that, I zone out sometimes.” He laughed uncomfortably. “The dolls don’t care, y’know? If I just kind of—stop. I’m out of practice with talking to people.”

“I see,” Ignis said, hesitant.

Prompto pointedly looked ahead and started beaming. “There it is!” He pointed. “The park entrance!”

Prompto rushed ahead a little, though Ignis continued at a steady pace and watched him go. He considered what just happened.

Perhaps Prompto had worse experiences in the theatre than Ignis has initially assumed—then again, he hadn’t seemed particularly fond of talking about it a few days ago, either, but Ignis assumed he simply preferred to talk about landscapes and whatever he found beautiful. But perhaps he hadn’t wanted to join the theatre in the first place, and wasn’t happy there? Or something terrible had happened? It seemed like his father didn’t want him around—perhaps there was a fight, and he was disowned?

Or maybe he _was_ just a lonely young man who spent his time either working, talking to his boss, or surrounded by humanoid electronics. Something terrible didn’t necessarily need to have happened. He could just have odd habits. Ignis tried not to assume the worst.

Prompto beamed back at him from between two large stone pillars. They sat on either side of a dirt road, where rain water filled carriage tracks. There were footprints as well, but they weren’t as deep or as wet as the carriage’s tracks. There were no fences—the park was only separated from the houses around it by the road along its perimeter, and the fact there were no houses beyond the road.

Behind Prompto was an expanse of hills and trees that was far larger than Ignis expected. It was likely able to be so large due to the mostly natural way it was left to thrive—the grass long, and the thistles and wildflowers varied. The largest signs of human involvement were the dirt paths, and the smoke drifting its way through the trees from the houses and machinery nearby.

For the first time today, Ignis wasn’t surprised at all by Prompto. It made complete sense that he would love this place.

Prompto waited for Ignis to catch up before he began talking. “There’s this gully further in that has these wicked roots growing across it, like brides. If fairies were real and they made bridges, that’s what these are.”

Ignis smiled at him. “I wait in anticipation to see them.”

“Good, you should be. They’re awesome.” He lead Ignis down the path, and looked at him curiously. “Hey actually, are fairies real?”

“Well, that depends on your definition of fairy.”

Prompto made a face. “Uh, what do you mean?” He elbowed Ignis’ arm lightly. “Also, that was one hell of a non-answer, good sir.”

Ignis was surprised at how easily this man made him smile. “The idea of fairies began when people interacted with the smaller spirits of the woods—the ones that were keepers of one specific bush, or one specific tree, instead of an entire grove or type of energy. People didn’t realise they were the same beings as the larger spirits, the only difference—besides size, of course—being what aspect they’re attached to, and perhaps their individual strength.”

“Huh,” Prompto blinked, “so there’s not really the type that will like, steal children away or whatever?”

“Well, it’s not impossible that could happen. People can still make pacts with smaller spirits, so if a child makes a poorly-thought out pact with a spirit, they could end up—well, who knows, really. Missing, because they were required to take care of a grove for their entire life, or something of the like.” Ignis thought of all the ways a pact could go wrong—how easily a child could lose their life to a bitter spirit, or mistake a daemon for a spirit and follow it somewhere dangerous.

When he was young, he read a story about a young woman who didn’t specify details of her pact with a camellia spirit, and she ended up having to lay her body down to become mulch for the bush. He didn’t know if the story was real or simply a tale told to teach kids caution, but it was certainly...vividly told, and not impossible.

Ignis decided against telling his Niflheimian acquaintance about that particular tale.

“That’s creepy,” Prompto said, frowning. “I wonder how many kids have disappeared because of that?”

“Less than people believe, I’m sure. There’s man other ways children can disappear in forests—it doesn’t necessarily have to be a spirit, every time.” Ignis stepped over a large puddle, offering a hand to Prompto to help him over. Prompto took his hand and smiled his thanks. “People imagine the worst—and often the worst isn’t a child drowning a river, but a child being enslaved by an inhuman being.”

Prompto made a face at Ignis. “Again, _creepy_. That’s so messed up.”

“Yes,” he agreed, quietly disappointed when Prompto dropped his hand, “it is. I hope I’m not poisoning your view of spirits too much with this, however. Most are peaceful beings.”

“Oh, no not at all!” Prompto scratched the back of his head. “Okay, maybe a little? But I didn’t really have an opinion on spirits before this, so like. You’re not harming my hopes and dreams, or anything.”

“No opinion?” Ignis asked. “So I’m not confirming any ill feelings towards them, either?”

“Nah,” Prompto shrugged, “my—father didn’t really care either way. We didn’t really talk about them.” He looked at the trees around them. “My boss though, I think he thinks of them positively, probably. Like, he made a play about them, right? The few times he’s talked about them—demons or spirits—he kinda treated them as just another part of life.” He slowed down as the passed a dried up dead tree. “Ardyn talks about them like they could be useful or they could cause problems. Like, a tree can be in the way of construction, but it can also be used to build, y’know?”

“That’s an excellent way to think of them, I’d say. I personally compare them to kitchen knives. But I’m admittedly glad you don’t think of spirits poorly, as I did not wish to inadvertently confirm any negative—” Ignis cocked his head. “Where are you going?”

Prompto looked up at him from where he’d descended down the hill, tall grass framing him on all sides. “You sure love using big words, don’tcha?” He grinned. “C’mon, the best places aren’t on the path.”

Ignis hesitated, just for a moment—the grass was tall, and he couldn’t see where his feet were going to land nor how steep the hill was, so he worried about falling and spilling his basket, especially since these shoes didn’t have the best grip—but it only lasted a moment, as Prompto offered his hand to Ignis with a sly smile.

“I won’t let you get lost, and I won’t let you fall. Promise.” And the shine in Prompto’s eye, almost mischievous but layered with something softer, made Ignis’ heart flutter. He crossed the two strides it took to reach Prompto and took his hand.

Ignis was beginning to understand the protagonists in some of Gladio’s books, the nobles who fell in love with country bumpkins. There was a certain charm to be had, here.

Not that he’d let ever tell Gladio that. Or that he'd call this feeling ‘love’, currently.

Prompto led him down the grass, which grew remarkably tall in some places, some individual strands reaching all the way to his chest. Ignis should have been the one leading Prompto, really, as the taller between the two. But Prompto was familiar with the area, and walked with confidence.

“Watch it here, there's some rocks that are perfect tripping height,” Prompto said. He balanced himself on one rock, and hopped to another, pulling Ignis along as he went. “I wonder if rocks in grass fields know they're the most inconvenient rocks on Eos?”

“I'm sure they wear the title with pride,” Ignis said dryly. “I'd wager that those pebbles that always make it into one’s shoes are vying for the title, however.”

Prompro scoffed. “No, those are pebbles, see? We're talking about _rocks._  The pebbles get their own title.”

“And there's a specific difference between rocks and pebbles?” A smile pulled at his lips. “They're both small minerals compositions, are they not?”

Prompto made an offended sound, and waved his free hand dismissively. “I don't have time to explain the intricate differences between rocks, pebbles, stones and boulders to an uncultured city-dweller.” He looked away haughtily, but then snort-laughed. He smiled back at Ignis. “I said _intricate,_ are you proud of me? Mr. _Mineral Compositions._ Who says that.”

And Ignis actually laughed, slightly looser than the poised, controlled way high-society taught him to. “Yes, very proud.”

Prompto beamed.

And then he tripped.

Ignis was pulled down after him, struggling to catch his balance between the basket on one arm (damn himself for not packing lighter) and the man tightly clinging onto his other (who was unexpectedly heavy, and also screeching). He stumbled, and his toe struck a rock, and all hope was lost.

Ignis landed hard on his shoulder, trying to avoid crushing Prompto. He still mostly landed on him, but the brunt of his weight didn't hit him. But between the angle of his landing and the momentum Prompto created when dragging him off balance, he couldn't stop his movement. He rolled over Prompto, and continued down the hill.

Ignis could barely comprehend the world spinning around him, but he was aware enough to notice that he still had arms clinging to him, and that there was a blonde head knocking into his, and he was rolling over another person and _damnit this wasn't supposed to happen why is this hill so steep—_

Ignis managed to grasp the grass to slow himself, arching his arms around Prompto to keep him from continuing past. At the same time, he twisted to brace his legs into the dirt, and finally stopped.

He took a moment to catch his breath, and a moment longer to convince himself to let go of the grass. He looked at his hands, the scuffs and tears in his gloves, and was never more thankful for his fashion choices. His head hurt, somewhat distantly, and Ignis just barely registered that maybe he should pay attention to that. Then he looked down at Prompto, who was slowly pulling his head away from where it had been pressed into Ignis’ chest.

Prompto blinked up at him. “This needs to stop happening.”

Ignis stared. “This has happened before?” His tongue felt thick.

“Well, this part of it.” He gestured to Ignis in general. “Back with Noct. Someone falling on me twice in one week is kind of a lot, you have to admit.”

“Two is a coincidence, three is a pattern,” Ignis said mindlessly, sitting up. “Are you hurt?”

Prompto flung himself into a sitting position, causing Ignis to lose his balance for a frantic second. Ignis realised he was still sitting on Prompto. “Nope! I'm okay. Takes a lot to hurt me, remember?” It took him a few seconds to process Prompto's words.

He cleared his throat, standing up, carefully trying to not disturb Prompto's legs. “That's good to hear. I, on the other hand, appear to have soft flesh.” He glanced around. Where did his basket go? It must have been dragged off his arm as they fell—which would certainly explain the particularly noticeable soreness on his forearm.

Prompto's nigh eternal smiling face turned worried. “Wait, you didn't break anything did you?”

“No, I don't believe so. But I will have some bruises and scabs come tomorrow. However, it's nothing too bad.” He peered around. “In fact, this reminds me of my youth, somewhat. I haven't tumbled down a hill like that since I was a boy of four. Though I believe I had more control back then, and I do recall it being more enjoyable. Where did that basket go?”

He backtracked up the hill a bit, and was a little irked that the grass was barely disturbed by their hectic descent. Could it not have given them the dignity of at least being nicely crushed behind them? It would make it easier to find the basket, and would soften the shame of their fall. He wondered if he should set the grass aflame for its cruel indifference, wooden basket be damned to its fate.

Wait, here it was.

“Look.” He lifted the basket to show Prompto with a small smile. He was surprised to see Prompto giving him a weird look. “What's the matter?”

“Uh, are you sure you're okay?” Prompto shifted. “You weren't walking super straight there, and you didn't respond when I asked what you were doing.”

“Oh.” Ignis paused. “I may have a slight concussion.”

Prompto's eyebrows shot up then drew together. “A concussion? What is—how bad is that? How can I help?”

“It's not too bad, it should heal by itself with time,” he said. “Though I should probably take it easy, in case it's worse than I think. No more gravity adventures. Which is too bad, I was planning to take you cliff jumping next.”

Prompto stared at him blankly.

“That, ah,” Ignis adjusted his glasses, “that was a joke.”

“Oh.” Prompto ducked his head. “That's—okay. Right. Uh, are you sure there's nothing I can do to help?”

“Sitting down would be nice.” Ignis looked Prompto up and down. “Are you sure you aren't hurt?”

“I—I'm fine.” He walked over and took the basket. Now that Ignis was looking, he noticed Prompto’s hand twitch as he did so, and that his movements were slower than before. He worried that Prompto was hiding his pain. “Oh man, did this break?” The handle on the basket was pulling out of one of the hinges, and some of the wicket had snapped.

“It's still usable,” Ignis reassured.

“Man, I'm so sorry.” Prompto fiddled with the handle. “Ugh, and it was such a pretty basket too.”

“Prompto, it's not your fault.” He paused. “Get it? _Fall_ -t. ”

Prompto gave him a peculiar look, and laughed. “Wow, okay. Let's get you sitting down.”

“Excuse me,” Ignis protested, even as Prompto took his arm and continued leading him down the last of the hill. “Who are you to assume that making puns is unusual for me?”

Prompto looked sideways at him. “You know what? I can see that. You could definitely be the type to be into puns.”

“Good. Then you can see the _gravity_ of your assumption, and why it brought me down. But I forgive you, we’re all fall-ible.”

Prompto groaned. “Okay, stop talking. For your health. Talking is bad for concussions.”

“Is it now?”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“I am simply surprised.” Ignis looked at the trees they were approaching, the ones growing at the bottom of the hill. Suddenly he was glad he stopped them when he did—running into one of those would have likely resulted in some broken bones. Frankly, he found it lucky they only ran into small rocks, no boulders or anything more harmful.

Prompto noticed him looking. “I wanted to show you stuff past this—I was gonna theatrically lead you across the gully to the...uh, nevermind, I guess. We're not seeing it anyway.”

“Theatrically, huh?” Ignis was piecing together a pun about theaters, but Prompto interrupted before he could.

“Nope, I said no talking. Bad for your health. Puns are known to worsen the effects of concussions, science shows it and everything.”

“Oh?” Ignis asked, amused. “Which studies revealed this?”

“Niflheim ones. We're very scientific.” He tugged on Ignis’ hand as the trees’ shadows reached them. “We'll stop just a little further ahead. I wanna show you the root bridges at least, make sure this whole trip wasn't a waste.”

Ignis fought the urge. He failed. “Honestly, I wasn't planning a trip today, but we've already covered that. Though I suggest you don't trip down a hill next time—maybe onto a bed instead, or some soft grass.”

Prompto squinted. “How dare you try to give me advice as you pun at me.”

“Oh my, was that a mistake?” Ignis asked innocently. “I didn't mean to sound hillier-than-thou.”

“Oh my gods, stop.”

“I can't stop now, I'm on a _roll._ ”

Prompto whined, stepping over a tree branch. “Is this my punishment? This is unfair.”

Ignis smiled at his tone. “If you think this is a _pun-_ ishment, then we may have to invest in some hiking shoes if our relationship is to succeed.”

Prompto gave him a strange look.

“...Because there are rocky hills in our future.”

Prompto squeezed his eyes shut.

“Don't worry, you'll _fall_ for me yet,” Ignis continued.

“I'm going to leave you here,” Prompto said. Ignis saw something in his eyes, some sort of battle happening. He sighed. “Some of these puns are getting to be such stretches, too. Their quality is…going downhill.”

Ignis gave an airy laugh at the pain in Prompto's voice, as well as the pun itself. “Thank you for indulging me,” Ignis said, sincerely. “And by the way, this date will not be a waste, even if it's cut short. I...rather enjoy your company.”

An array of emotions crossed Prompto's face before he looked away. “Thanks. I like being around you, too.” He stopped. “We're here.”

Ignis wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings; he hadn't noticed they were approaching a clearing until they were on it.

The clearing formed due to the gully, which was deeper and wider than Ignis expected. It must have been created by runoff from the mountains in the winter, as there was hardly any water flowing through its center now. Most of what was there was probably from the rain.

But more noticeable than the gully itself was the system of roots criss-crossing its expanse. They looked like some sort of roof arching over it—some areas were braided in such a way that it reminded Ignis of the very splint basket Prompto was carrying.

Prompto was practically vibrating, so Ignis looked at the man holding his arm. He wore an excited smile. “See? Isn't it awesome!”

“Yes. It's...far more unusual than I was expecting.” He peered at some of the more braid-like root formations. “I think you were more right about these being spirit bridges than you thought.”

Prompto’s eyes got even wider, which was somehow possible. “Really?”

“I'm not sure what else could have caused this. It's possible some of the roots remained upright after water removed the earth below it, but…” he looked at how far these patterns went, “this much is unusual, and some of the twists are quite consistent.”

“That's even _cooler,_  what the fu—uh, heck.” Prompto looked over the scene. “I wonder if we'll meet any of the builders.”

What Ignis said was “Indeed,” but he knew that wasn't likely, unless they disturbed the spirits somehow. Anything short of setting the roots on fire was unlikely to elicit a response. He let Prompto have his hopes, though.

Some part of Ignis was relieved to see that the possibility caused curiosity instead of fear in his Niflheimian companion.

“Let's go this way,” Prompto said. “I know I said _we're here,_ but I know a way down, and it's a better picnic spot than this.”

“I can handle a bit more walking,” Ignis assured.

Prompto didn't lead him far; it took a bit of climbing and using the roots as handles (Prompto going first and fretting over Ignis), but they made it down without incident.

The lighting underneath the roots was different. It was freckled, like the light under trees, but it was completely still. Besides that, it didn't have the ambient green light that trees create—it was warmer, somehow. That mixed with the steady, twisted barrier above them to create an secure, yet otherworldly, feeling.

“Fascinating,” Ignis breathed.

They settled down nearby. Ignis pulled a blanket from the basket, laying it out for them to sit on. He looked at his carefully packed snacks, relieved to see most of them survived their tumble.

Another win for preparation.

He pulled out a packet of cookies he'd made, opening the paper packing. “I understand if you're not hungry,” he said, offering them to Prompto while taking one himself, “but I could use some sweets, personally.”

“Have a secret sweet tooth, huh?” Prompto smiled at him.

“I will neither confirm nor deny this.”

As he ate his cookie, and then a mini sandwich, Prompto told him about the bakery in the plaza—which Ignis realised was where Gladio and Noctis hid from the rain, and also bought a small cake they pretended not to eat 90% of. Prompto talked about how they made food shaped like men and flowers, and how some were made from a mix of ginger and Galahdian spices, and wondered why they were called ginger _bread_ since they were definitely cookies, and other such musings and facts. Ignis adored that Prompto followed his curiosity and went to the baker to learn, that he asked about the techniques she used, and the spices, and why she did them this way.

He had all this to say, simply from seeing a cookie.

Ignis set aside some of the other foods he'd packed, reaching for the first aid kit hidden at the bottom. It seemed that the tea leaves were right—there was a slight potential for danger on this date. He brushed the sigils off the kit, and frowned at the good luck charm.

It was one he'd learned from Noctis, but he'd had little success in making ones that work. He was working on a theory that looking into the future somehow messed them up, since he thought he was making them just fine. Or maybe it was his doubt in their effects that keeps them from working. He wasn't sure.

Though, maybe the lucky charm _was_ working. Perhaps their tumble down the hill could have been far worse—he couldn’t know. He was only thankful that it wasn’t.

You can stay this time, charm.

Prompto looked up from peering inside the cookie bag. “What's that?”

Ignis took out some gauze out of the kit, glancing up. “Something to help with the scratches. I have one particularly noticeable point of pain on my arm, so I believe it is bleeding.”

Prompto snorted. “You really are always prepared, huh?” Then his smile faded. “Wait, which arm? Not the one I was pulling on, right?”

Ignis paused. “No.” He hesitantly started pulling up his sleeve, hoping Prompto wouldn't notice—

“That's the arm I was pulling on!” He threw his head back and groaned. “Why didn't you say anything?”

“It's alright,” Ignis assured, “if it were truly painful, I would have said something. Besides, I didn’t really notice it until a few minutes ago.” Prompto opened his mouth, but Ignis interrupted. “If you apologize again, I will take away your cookies.”

Prompto froze, then grumbled to himself. “Fine, fine.” He pulled out a cookie. “These are the tastiest-looking cookies I’ve ever seen, by the way. You should preserve them, for future generations to witness their beauty. I almost don’t want to eat them, they look so good.”

“They were made to be eaten. I would feel poorly to take them from their destiny.”

Prompto snorted. “Dude, they’re just cookies.”

“The same could be said to you. Do you imagine a museum taking in my preserved cookies?”

“Yes,” Prompto said very seriously. He put the cookie back down. “Do you—uh, want a hand with that?” He gestured at Ignis, who was attempting to wrap the gauze around his elbow—there was definitely some cloth burns there, and a hole in his shirt where a rock pierced through to his skin.

“It would be appreciated, thank you.” Ignis offered Prompto his elbow.

Prompto wrapped the gauze carefully, eyes intense with concentration. Ignis felt how close the other man was, noticing how cold his hands were, and the gentleness with which they operated. Ignis wanted to take them, warm them up. Wanted to get him warmer gloves. Light spattered on his face, sharp and twisting. Prompto’s eyes flitted up to meet his, and for a moment they almost seemed to glow.

Prompto tore the gauze, and began sitting back. “Is this—” Light flashed and a sharp crackle made them both jump. For a moment, Ignis blinded. “Is that lightning?” Prompto sounded bewildered. “There’s no clouds—”

Ignis was barely able to make out another flash—arching over them, across the roots, _so close—_

“Prompto,” Ignis hissed. “Get behind me.”

He could just make out Prompto getting up as Ignis dove for where he remembered the basket was. Blinking away the dots in his eyes, grasping for sigils, he felt Prompto grasp his shoulder, then his arm. Prompto held on tight, even as Ignis stood and backed away.

Another crackle had him looking up—squinting to look at the spirit. It was barely able to maintain a form, looking more like an electric blob than a person, trying to climb through the roots. Was it unstable? Why was it attacking?

It screeched.

Ignis hoped his primordial was as good as Noctis said it was. He opened his mouth, tried to connect to the magic in the air and within himself, and spoke the ancient language of spirits. _‘What do you seek?’_

Prompto gasped. Okay, Ignis was going to have to explain this after. He knew how terrifying this style of speech sounded—hissy and strange, like a person possessed. He didn't blame the man for pulling away from him.

The spirit pushed its way through the roots finally, garbling the entire time. _‘Hurt!’_ it hissed, a lick of electricity whipping out closer to Ignis than he preferred.

 _‘Are you hurt?’_ He was trying to stay steady, but it was hard to focus on keeping the magic flowing through his voice with all the noise and—everything.

 _‘No!’_ it screamed. _‘Hurt! Evil!’_

He glanced back at Prompto, who was looking at it with sheer horror. It continued cackling words, ones Ignis couldn't understand. _‘What's evil?’_

It exploded electricity, saying _‘Monster!’_ and more words Ignis didn't understand—it dove towards Ignis— _no,_ past Ignis, at Pr—

 _“Stop!”_ Ignis yelled. He reacted without thinking, thrust his hands out, cast the only offensive spell that ever came naturally to him—written in his name, on his heart, the only flashy spell whose casting word he never had to say.

Fire burst from his hands and interrupted the spirit's already erratic form. Several voices cried out from it—wailing and yelling and screeching. Ignis moved to be between it and Prompto again, sparing a glance at Prompto to see the fear painting his face.

He didn't know if the fear was of him or the spirit. He didn't know if it mattered, at this point.

Damnit.

Ignis clenched his hands, turning sharp eyes on the spirit. He brandished one of the sigils—hoping to Bahamut above that he grabbed the right one in his haste. “This is a banishing sigil. It will disrupt your spirit and send you back to wherever you came.” He looked steadily at it, and spoke its language. _‘It will hurt.’_

It snarled. Ignis’ heart pounded—he was worried he wouldn't be able to activate the sigil fast enough, if the spirit decided to attack. But it didn't know that.

He made a show of placing the sigil flat on his left palm, cupping his right hand over it.

The spirit seemed to recognise that as an activation position, and crackled capriciously, before bursting out with one last clap of thunder and blinding light.

As Ignis’ blinked away the darkness, he could see it retreating through the roots, hissing and crackling the entire time. He watched it fade into the sky like steam, before dropping his hands and turning to face Prompto.

Prompto stared back with open terror, hands clenched over his chest.

Ignis cleared his throat, but his voice was still rough when he spoke. “It’s safe now.”

Prompto opened his mouth, but he didn't say anything.

“I,” his voice faltered. “I'm sorry.” Ignis should have looked more closely when he saw there was a potential for danger today. He shouldn't have worried so much about ruining surprises. Not all surprises were good.

In the silence that followed, Prompto’s voice came falteringly. “It's not your fault.”

Ignis shook his head. He couldn't explain to Prompto why it was. He should have activated the sigils before, prevented any spirits from coming close. He should have foreseen this and prevented it. “Are you hurt?” he asked instead.

Prompto shook his head. “No. Are...are you?” He slowly dropped his hands from his chest.

“I am fine.” Ignis saw Prompto eyeing the sigil in his hand. He held it out, stepping forwards. “This is banishing sigil. They—”

 _“Don't,”_ Prompto snapped, then flinched. “Sorry, just. Put it away. I don't—I don't need to see it.”

Ignis lowered it. He turned and put it back in the basket. All his movements were deliberately slow, open and unthreatening. He stood back up and turned to face Prompto, holding his empty hands in the air. “It's gone.”

“What was that?”

Ignis hesitated. “The sigils, or—”

 _“Everything.”_ Prompto threw his hands in the air. “The fire, your _voice._ Why do you have sigils? Why did that—that _thing_ attack us? Was it a demon? This never happened here before.”

“I...perhaps we should sit down. Answering all your questions may take some time.” Ignis had to resist the urge to look away from Prompto. “You don't have to sit near me if you don't want to.”

A hard to read expression crossed Prompto's face—hesitation? Consideration? Sadness? Ignis wasn't sure, but the other man soon averted his eyes and spoke softly. “Okay, fine. But the basket stays near me.”

“That can be arranged.”

They sat a feet from each other, Prompto barely on the blanket. The space between them was deeply regretful to Ignis, even though he knew it was best for Prompto's comfort.

The silence was thick.

“Why did that happen?” Prompto started, looking at his hands, the blanket, the basket —anywhere that was away from Ignis.

“I'm not sure. That was...unusual.”

Prompto frowned. “So you didn't...like, summon it or something?”

“Did it look like I summoned it?” Ignis asked flatly. “There's been disturbances in all sorts of magical areas as of late, and my compatriots and I aren't certain as to why. I imagine that spirit was one of those affected.”

“So that was a spirit then? Not a demon?”

“It was a spirit,” Ignis confirmed. “Though, it was highly unstable. If it continues down this path, it may very well become a demon.”

Prompto was fiddling with the cuffs of his jacket. He took a moment to speak, glancing up at Ignis. “You...did magic.”

“Yes.”

Ignis let him collect his thoughts.

“So…” He gave a weak laugh. “That was unexpected.”

The laugh, as small as it was, felt like a blessing from the Astrals. It was a sign that this might not be a total catastrophe. It was a relief to Ignis’ heart.

He offered a small smile back. “I agree, everything about this was surprising. And as you say, I'm the one that's always prepared, so that's saying something.”

Prompto scoffed. “You were still prepared. You had those sigils on you.” He looked at the basket next to him, considering. “Why did you have those, if you didn’t know this would happen?”

“Because I'm always prepared,” Ignis said, deadpan. Prompto gave him dubious squint. Ignis elaborated, “I knew the waylines were unstable, and I figured it would be a good idea to have a banishing sigil on me. There's a few other types in there, such as one that makes water evaporate, and another that creates light.”

“Huh.” Prompto raised an eyebrow. “Why one that evaporates water?”

“In case of flooding,” Ignis says. “Or our clothes get wet in the rain.”

“Rain.” Prompto smiled despite himself. “Didn't bring an umbrella?”

“Not this time.”

“How unprepared of you.” Prompto looked down at his hands again. “So...when were you going to tell me you could—explode your hands.”

Ignis blinked at his wording. “I...intended to tell you that I am a mage eventually. But I wanted to tastefully introduce you to more magical concepts first. Ease you into it. That,” he said wryly, “clearly didn't go according to plan.”

“Clearly.”

Into the silence that followed, Ignis spoke. “Spirits aren't usually quite so...aggressive. I'm sorry this was your first experience with them.”

Prompto smiled sadly. “Yeah, me too.”

“Do you have any more questions?”

Prompto laughed humourlessly. “Uh, yeah. But frankly, I don't know how to even begin wording them. I—the explanations you've given already _sound_ like they make sense, probably, but I just—I don't know. Any of this. I don’t know what waylines are or how spirits become demons or...anything.”

Ignis paused. “Do you...want to know?”

Prompto smiled tiredly. “I don’t think we have time for...all that. Besides, I should probably get going.”

“Not today, then. Another time, at another place, with more stable spirits that I can show you to help you understand.” Ignis’ heart was beating; this wasn't just an opportunity, it might be his last saving grace. “A place with controlled magic, unlike this wild area. Where you can see how mages—how _I_ work.”

Prompto turned his head. “I...I don't know…”

“It's a public place, a park.” Green eyes looked into blue, earnestly. “It's safe. I swear it.”

Prompto searched his eyes; whatever he was looking for, he seemed to find it. He gave a single affirmative nod, and stood up. “Alright. What's its name?”

Ignis took the hand Prompto offered. “The Exalted Gardens.”

 

* * *

 

The walk back wasn't nearly as upbeat as the one to the park. Tense wasn't the right word, though awkward wasn't quite right either; unsure, perhaps.

Ignis was relieved when Prompto went back to talking about all the small details he saw. It was a welcome distraction—but it felt distinctly like a distraction, rather than a natural occurrence.

Ignis appreciated it for the kindness it was.

Prompto stopped a block before the theatre to say his goodbyes. He promised to meet Ignis at the edge of the refugee district in a few days, and Ignis hoped he was being honest. It's not like Ignis could do much if he didn't show.

It wasn’t until Ignis arrived home that he realised Prompto, yet again, didn’t eat anything.

Ignis sighed and put the wicker basket on the table. It seemed he needed to rethink his approach to Prompto, in many regards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How Many Times Can I Use Em Dashes In One Chapter, a new challenge I'm starting apparently
> 
> Also, I'm naturally kinda heavy in how I write, so I usually try to lighten it up a bit and not be so...idk, pretentious sounding? Overly flowery/prose-y? I've primarily written essays over the last few years and I feel like it shows. So writing Ignis is an exercise in allowing myself to use some fancier language, but also trying to not to be boring, and lemme tell u it's been a Journey.
> 
> But thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated : )


	4. You Do It to Yourself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So writing this ended up being like pulling teeth, idk, it was bad. I wrote the first 3000 words in like 2 days in a bizarre happenstance of productivity, and then I could barely get 100 words out at a time after. I'm cursed >.>
> 
> Anyway! I've updated the ratings, and I've added a few tags, so take heed! I don't personally think this is graphic or anything, it's just mostly the fact that Prom is a automaton so he can like...be opened up, to be repaired. This is comparable to surgery, I'd say. except. He's awake. And that might squick some people out, so I thought I'd give a warning just in case! There's a summary at the end about what Ardyn and Prompto talk about, so if you're worried you can read that and get the gist of this chapter : )
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!

Ignis was really pretty, in a kind of nerdy way. He had beautiful eyes and such smooth angles to his face; Prompto could only get contours that nice if he spent an hour on his makeup, and Ignis had them naturally, damn him. He had a calm sort of radiance, a natural brilliance in mind and spirit that intrigued Prompto.

And that motherfucker could make his hands explode.

Prompto was beginning to understand the concept that humans had layers, like Ardyn always explained. Potentially bad layers, as he would also remind Prompto.

This layer didn't feel _bad,_ though. Just. Surprising.

(The spirit was both bad _and_ a surprise, though. Why did it have to be both. Why did everything have to be so many things. Just. Stop for a second. Chill out, world.)

Prompto was staring at the theatre looming above him, its shadow darkening his path. He didn't want to go in. He had a show in a few hours, so he had to, but he didn't want to.

He massaged his wrist—the fall definitely messed it up worse, and he could feel that some cogs inside his chest were loose. He needed repairs. He didn't want—maybe he didn't need them. Maybe he could do the performance without Ardyn finding out. Maybe he could fix himself beforehand, and Ardyn would never know. Or maybe he could make it through the performance and fix it after.

He decided to try acting casual, walk around and see what Ardyn and the other dolls were doing. See how many were in the workshop, pretend to be going there to get changed. Maybe steal a toolbox.

Ardyn didn't have to know anything.

Prompto started walking around to the back, looking for Libertus. He hoped they could make up a story together about how Prompto was with him the whole time, coordinate the topics they talked about to make it convincing.

Libertus could always be trusted for a good cover story. He was better at lying with a straight face than the other two.

Well, okay, Crowe was really good at lying too. But her lies were—weird.

He twisted his wrist, agonizing the joint in a way that he only ever did when something wasn't working right. He thought about his outing with Ignis as he walked, agonizing over it in the way he did when he felt like a conversation didn't go right.

So pretty much every social interaction he had that lasted more than ten minutes.

Prompto hadn’t realised it was a date. He'd thought—they were just hanging out. But then Ignis punned about Prompto falling for him, and that was weird, but probably just a joke, but then he also called it a date, and _then_ he described the next one as “Less of a date, and more of a learning experience,” and Prompto was gonna die. Whatever lie was sitting inside him and calling itself a soul would finally shrivel up at turn to dust, and Prompto would be dead.

Goodbye, world. He went on a date and didn't realise it.

And it was kind of a disaster, too. Or, he thought it was. He didn't really have a frame of reference, so maybe that was normal? If it was, then he wasn't sure he wanted to go on another one.

Hah,  _go on another one._ Like he'd get a chance to.

He turned the corner into the back, and froze.

Ardyn was talking to the theatre crew, Crowe leaning against her broom and looking exceptionally bored, Nyx doing his awful poker face, while Libertus was clearly taking the lead in whatever conversation they were having.

Prompto stepped back around the corner, watching from afar. Libertus gestured vaguely, posture reflecting that bored sort of irritation that was uniquely him. Ardyn frowned, said something that looked haughty to Prompto, and turned on his heel to return inside.

Prompto watched with apprehension. He had the feeling he knew what that was about. Did he want to go in right now? Ardyn clearly noticed he was gone already. Dammit, he wasn't even gone that long.

“Are you gonna quit hiding?” Crowe called. “I saw you pop around the corner. You're not that smooth.”

Prompto’s chest seized. Then he breathed out a sigh, reminded himself he wouldn't be in trouble with them, probably, and walked towards them.

Nyx waved and Libertus sighed. Prompto hoped the sigh wasn't directed at him.

“Oh, hey Prompto,” Crowe said, like she didn't just call him out. She jerked her chin towards door. “He was asking after you, wondering where you were.”

“Oh.” Prompto ducked his head. “Yeah, I figured.”

“We told him you were out here with us up until about ten minutes ago,” Nyx said.

“Told ‘im you were gonna go see if the Laughing Lark is still open,” Libertus added.

Prompto's eyebrows drew together. “Doesn't it open at five?”

“Yeah, and you just found that out by walking to the pub and reading their sign, right?” Libertus winked.

Prompto stared blankly at them for a second before understanding. “Oh. Oh! Oh my gosh, thank you so much.”

“No problemo.” Nyx smiled crookedly. “Though maybe tell us where you're going next time, so we can make a more time-accurate lie. What if you were gone for an hour? The Lark ain't that far away.”

Libertus scoffed. “You? Knowing more? The only reason you convinced Ardyn at all there was that I think you really believed Prompto left just a few minutes ago.”

A flash of confusion passed Nyx's features, but he covered it up. “Look, I did fine backing up your lie.”

“You stared at him for three seconds before saying ‘yes, we asked him to go’ in the flattest tone possible,” Crowe pointed out.

“You're always telling me I get too expressive when I lie!”

“Okay, yeah,” Crowe shrugged a shoulder, “but you could have competed with the dolls for lifelessness there, pal.”

Libertus laughed as Nyx sputtered, and Prompto laughed right along.

“Speaking of dolls.” Crowe looked pointedly over Prompto's shoulder. “We've got some creepers.”

Sure enough, there was two watching from the barely ajar backdoor. They were hardly visible from the shadows within.

Libertus made a face. “Promise me you never do that,” he said to Prompto.

Prompto was watching the doll's body language, trying to gauge how much trouble he was in. “What? Watch people?”

“Yes,” all three of them said.

He paused thoughtfully. “What do you think I was doing around the corner?”

 _"E_ xcuse me—” “You what now—” “—bitch, you better not.”

Prompto laughed, and his chest ached when something shifted where it wasn't supposed to. “I should go. If they're here, I'm probably needed.” He headed towards them, but paused with his hand on the doorframe. “I, uh, wasn't actually spying on you there. I wouldn't do that.”

“Sure thing,” Nyx said with a smile.

Crowe shrugged. “You're bigger than the dolls. I think I'd notice you if you tried something like that.”

Prompto nodded. “Well, uh, bye.” He waved as he stepped through the door.

The dolls stared up at him. One he named Silver, cause of its hair, and the other was Eyeball cause it got kicked by a kid and its eye broke; it had to he replaced with another doll’s eye, so it had one green and one brown eye. Silver tugged on his coat while Eyeball ran off, presumably to get Ardyn.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm coming.” Prompto followed Silver, glaring after Eyeball. “Traitors.”

Silver lead him to the changeroom-workshop. He came in to see Ardyn with his glasses on, hunched over a doll on the table in the corner. Eyeball stood dutifully next to him, staring forward blankly. His tools were out, and a doll was open at the chest in front of him. It turned its head and blinked at Prompto.

Prompto chose to focus on how Ardyn’s glasses made him look more fatherly, like a man making toys for his kids, instead of the shitty creepy Everything Else about this room.

He already wanted to be outside again, breathing fresh air.

Ardyn kept working on the doll. He worked methodically, silently. Prompto was beginning to feel very uncomfortable, shifting in place and trying to find something to look that felt safe, when he finally spoke. “You left.” He didn't look up from the doll.

“I...I was with Libertus—”

“So they said.”

Prompto shifted. “Did you want me—”

“Where did you go?” He held the crystal core of the doll to the light. The doll wasn't moving anymore.

Prompto’s hand went unintentionally to his chest. “I…went to the Laughing Lark. To check the hours.”

Ardyn looked at him over the rim of his glasses. His gaze went steadily down Prompto's body, eyeing his posture and clothes. “You got rather dirty from a short trip to a pub. Didn't get into a fight, I hope?”

“No. I, uh, tripped.”

Ardyn stood and placed the crystal down in one smooth movement. He smiled as he approached. It was a sharp smile, almost perfectly kind looking, and one Prompto had learned to fear.

Prompto felt energy surge through him, but not the same energy he felt with Ignis—this one was bad. Like he should get away, hide.

Ardyn deliberately reached towards Prompto’s face, who tried to stay still. But Ardyn didn't touch his face; instead, he took something from Prompto's shoulder, and held it up to reveal a blade of grass.

“Did you fall in a garden?” He was still smiling.

Prompto's face was carefully neutral—the look he got when he stopped using his facial components, the way he looked when he was turned off. “Yes.”

Ardyn reached further down, picking a thistle off his jacket, and Prompto cut off his flinch too late. “A garden with wild plants?” Ardyn stared intently until Prompto looked him in the eyes. “I don't appreciate being lied to, Prompto.”

He forced his mouth to work. “I'm sorry.” He should cut his losses now, admit it himself, get ahead of Ardyn pulling it out of him. “I went to Foxtail Park.”

Ardyn didn't look surprised at all, his eyes still sharp and his smile still dangerous. “I said we'd go there soon, together. It's safer that way. Did you forget? Such a forgetful one, aren't you.”

“No, I—”

“No?” Ardyn's tone was sickly sweet. “You didn't forget?”

Prompto looked down at a Ardyn's jacket instead of his eyes. There were some slight floral patterns in the stitching. “That was a few days ago, and I...wanted to go.” Okay, that was maybe 30% true. Prompto needed to start saying some half-truths; it felt like Ardyn could always notice his lies the more dishonest he was, and he didn't need the man looking more into this event.

He didn't need to know about Ignis.

“Patience is a virtue, darling.” He brushed a hand against Prompto's cheek. “What if you broke something in your tumble, and couldn't make it back home? How could I know what happened?”

Prompto shrugged. The patterns on Ardyn's jacket sure were nice.

“Prompto.”

He wondered why his jacket was so much plainer than Ardyn's.

“Prompto.” Ardyn's tone was harder.

Prompto forced his eyes up.

“How would I know what happened to you?” His eyes were dark.

“You wouldn't.”

“Don't mumble.”

“You wouldn't know,” Prompto said, louder this time.

“And can you imagine the worry I'd feel? It would only get worse as the hours passed.”

 _Why do you care?_ Prompto wanted to snap. _I'm not alive, I can't die, I'm not a person, you and Besithia can make another of me. Why do you_ care _?_

But he kept his flash of anger in check, trying to ignore the physical discomfort from Ardyn's proximity which caused it, and managed to say a weak “I'm sorry.”

“It's alright, this time. But really, do be more careful.” He leaned back to look Prompto up and down. “Did you hurt yourself in your tumble?”

“No, I. I'm fine.”

“Well, it's about time we did a checkup anyways. Please get changed, sit down.” Ardyn turned to walk back towards the table he'd been working on, and Prompto allowed himself to flinch.

He went to his corner, shirking off his outer layers and putting them in the box. He looked back at Ardyn, to see what tools he was taking out, and cringed when he saw the long pliers. His hands went to the hem of his undershirt, but he dropped them. No, he was keeping his shirt on. Even if he couldn't stop what was coming, he was going to make it as tedious and frustrating for Ardyn as he could.

This may have been a punishment, and maybe annoying Ardyn would make it last longer, but he was going to put it off as long as he could.

Ardyn moved the doll from the table, and patted the vacant spot, looking at his tools instead of Prompto. Prompto came over and sat down. Ardyn held an open hand out, the other organizing his tools, and Prompto automatically put his arm in it.

Ardyn took out a small hammer, pausing to look at Prompto's shirt. His eyes narrowed, but he began lightly tapping along Prompto's arm without comment, starting from his wrist onwards. The room was silent except for the _tap tap tap._ He dropped that arm, and gestured for Prompto to give him the other. Prompto obliged more hesitantly this time.

Ardyn hummed, peering at Prompto's forearm as the taps made something rattle inside. “Something seems broken here.” He took a hook from the table, and skillfully reached into Prompto's wrist joint with it. He unhooked a small mechanism inside, and Prompto's forearm popped open, revealing all the cogs and wires inside.

Prompto watched with uneasy interest. It was kinda cool to see, in a mentally-disconnected-from-the-situation sort of way. His arm felt fuzzy.

Ardyn hummed again, moving some bits inside. “Looks like it was rusted, snapped from your fall. Seems like luck wasn't on your side.” He frowned. “That's going to hard to fix.”

“Oh.”

He rolled Prompto's hand a few times, watching the joint. “Hmm,” he prodded at the springs inside, “or perhaps luck _was_ on our side. You could have lost your hand if this were much worse.”

Prompto's eyed widened. “Seriously?” Prompto tried to imagine Ignis’ face if his hand just—snapped off. What the fuck. He would have had to look for it in the grass, and hope that Ignis bought that he had a prosthetic without wanting to see how it worked.

“I can make a temporary fix, but I'm going to need a new ball joint for this to work properly again. But I can at least improvise.” Ardyn shook his head. “Really, Prompto, you need to be more careful. Between the fall and you sneaking out, you're making me second guess my decision to allow you to roam the theatre unsupervised.”

Unsupervised? Really? With all the dolls hovering around, he really doubted that.

Prompto must have made a face, because Ardyn lowered his arm and cocked an eyebrow. “What is it? Speak up.”

He sighed, deciding to comment on the first thing that was bothering him, instead of the ‘unsupervised’ bit that would certainly get him in trouble. “It's just—I told you it's been acting weird.”

Ardyn sighed tiredly. “What did I just say about lying?”

“I'm not lying! You said it was a good thing, it would show people that I'm really an automaton.”

“That doesn't sound like me,” Ardyn mused. He put his hand up when Prompto tried to speak again. “ _If_ this really happened, then you must not have been very clear on how bad it was. I am not a mind or machine reader, I can't know something is wrong without looking or being told.” He put the small hammer down. “Be more clear, next time. I care about you and all the others, I wouldn't ignore a problem.”

That...actually made sense. Did Prompto not explain how janky it was? He must have undersold it—he did that a lot, trying not to be in the way. He ducked his head. “Sorry, you're...probably right. I'll be more clear next time.”

Ardyn patted his cheek. “That's all I can ask for. Now,” he clasped Prompto's arm closed, “take your shirt off.”

Prompto flinched. “Do we have to?” He was going to complain more, but Adryn interrupted.

“We haven't done a full check-up in a while, and that fall could have damaged something important.” He held Prompto's hand. When he spoke again, there was an underlying tone that sounded like sarcasm, but it was subtle in that way of Ardyn's that Prompto wasn't sure he was hearing it right. “Though, if you've been honest the last few weeks about everything working fine, and you _weren't_ just saying that to get out of a check up, then this should go by quickly.”

Fuck. So this wasn't just a punishment for leaving, it was a punishment for not cooperating back then.

Prompto pulled his undershirt over his head, and wondered how long Ardyn could make this go on for without making him late for the performance.

By his math, a long time.

Prompto resigned himself to several hours of discomfort, laying down on the table, his chest feeling heavy. That feeling got weird when Ardyn took out the long hook, slipped it through the gap at his collarbone, and opened his chest compartment. It split into two at the centre.

He always felt strange and disconnected when they did this. He tried not to think about how or why he could feel anything at all. It was too big a question, which gave him anxiety, which lead to other questions about _emotions_ and how he had anxiety in the first place, and all that was a hole that he wasn't ready to go down.

Except, fuck, he was thinking about it now.

Ardyn had put his glasses on and was adjusting parts inside Prompto's chest, meanwhile Prompto's chest began to feel constricted and strained at the same time. _Why_ could he feel like that? Why does it get worse the more he thinks about it? Why did having his body open mess up his senses so bad? Why did that matter? He probably didn’t have a soul, and his body was metal, it shouldn’t feel anything, he doesn't have _nerves._

Why could he think? Did the other dolls do this?

Are they tortured and unable to speak?

How can _he_ speak?

_What does any of this mean—_

Ardyn tapped Prompto's crystal core twice, which sent a jolt of pain through his entire being, but there's no way that's _pain,_ he can't feel that, so _why—_ “Whatever you're doing, stop it,” Ardyn drawled. “You're going to crack your core if you keep that up, and then what shall I do?” He leaned over Prompto's face to look down at him. He couldn’t see Ardyn’s face with the lamp backlighting him, his face in darkness. “I'd rather not have to go through the process of powering you up again. That was rather unpleasant for everyone the first time, yes?”

Prompto's eyes widened. He imagined seeing Besithia again, waking up to see his hopeful eyes, and slowly crushing that hope as the days passed—or maybe there would only be cold indifference this time, since he was a failure the first time—would Prompto even remember himself? What if something else replaced him? What was “him" in the first place? Was Ardyn's ritual a success, and Prompto was the real Prompto and just forgot himself? Or was he a monster taking the body meant for Prompto? Was he a demon—a human—something else—

Ardyn hushed him, carding his hand through Prompto's hair. “Count downwards, darling. Intervals of six, starting at one hundred.”

Prompto tried to focus on the hand in his hair—better than the one resting above his lungs—and tried to do the math. He whispered the numbers out loud, slowly, the light pulsing from his core lessening in intensity slowly.

At forty-six Ardyn sighed. “I'd ask what that was about, but I'd rather not risk starting it again.”

“S-sorry.” He blinked, re-focusing his eyes after they'd been staring blankly for who knows how long. He looked at Ardyn, trying to sort the words he wanted to say, how he wanted to ask—

Ardyn shook his head. “Really, this should happen less the more we do this, but you only seem to be getting worse. Are you trying to get out of checkups? Because behaving this way can only get you so far.”

“No, I,” his voice faltered. That wasn't why he had the episode, and it would probably be a bad idea to ask now, but. “Can…can we not do this today?”

“Prompto.”

“Just this once—it's just, today's been a lot already.” His voice faltered as he reached the end of the sentence. It was weird, realising how true that was only after saying it.

He needed a break. He never thought he’d do enough to think that.

“I'd be more willing to listen if you hadn't abused your privileges to sneak out earlier. Between that, and you trying to take advantage of my emotions right now, I fear that you're using my kindness against me.” Ardyn sighed. “Not manipulating me, are you?”

“N-no!” He grabbed the arm Ardyn had resting in his chest. “Ardyn, no, I swear I'm not. I don't—I'm not evil.” His voice got quieter. “I'm not evil.”

He wasn't like that spirit earlier, attacking a human unprompted. He wasn't a demon either, he didn't think. He was...he didn't know what he was.

He closed his eyes to the emotion that evoked in him.

Ardyn shifted to hold Prompto's hand in his own. “I certainly hope not. I would be ashamed for bringing something corrupt into the world.”

He stayed like that for a minute, but then Ardyn picked up the long pliers again and began prodding things, seeing what was loose or breaking. Prompto felt like the conversation wasn't over, but didn't know what to say, so he went back to thinking and pretending he wasn't there right then.

He tried not to think of anything specific about his existence (like how he could possibly feel like he's out of breath when his lungs were primarily to take in air for cooling purposes and not...needing oxygen purposes. Fuck, think about something else). Prompto decided to focus on Ignis instead. On today. On...the date.

He'd never seen magic firsthand before, even when he was brought to consciousness. He knew next to nothing about it, and frankly didn't know what to expect. Though he apparently hadn't expected _that._ The spirit, and the fire, and _the voices._

His mind had kept drifting back to the way they sounded, how it almost felt like he could understand the words. Like he had pieces of a puzzle in front of him, and he could see all the colours, but every time he found two pieces that seemed like they could fit together, his chest burst into pain and he dropped them.

His hand twitched, remembering a ghost of the pain, wanting to put pressure on his chest like he had earlier. It seemed to help, somehow, which was another can of worms he didn't want to think about.

He wondered if humans knew how their bodies worked, if they understood every signal it sent their way. That would be nice, to just _know_ what's happening. Maybe he should ask Nyx sometime.

Like a mindreader, Ardyn spoke without looking from his work. “They're liars, y'know.” He poked something in his chest that made Prompto's arm feel weird. “They said you were with them.”

“I…” Prompto swallowed. “I think they were just trying to keep me out of trouble.”

“Do you really think you can trust them?” Ardyn's tone was casual, almost conversational. “They've shown they're quite adept at coordinating lies on the spot, Lartus and Craw. Nip, maybe less so, but they're all on the same page.”

Prompto closed his eyes, trying to decide on whether to comment on Ardyn’s words or his butchering of their names, how to react in the first place.

“They sure do like to act like your friend,” he continued, and Prompto looked at him again. “I wonder why? Surely they know what you are.”

That was a question Prompto had asked himself many times before. “I don't know,” he answered honestly. People that knew what he was rarely talked to him, or when they did they usually seemed nervous or overly touchy and curious. Nyx had always been nice, conversational. Crowe _was_ more curious, and Libertus was the most distant one initially. But they all started getting a lot nicer this trip, not like the last two times he visited Insomnia, where their kindness grew slowly.

He genuinely didn't know what changed. He didn't think anything had. Was that...suspicious?

“They seem nice,” Ardyn drawled, peering down his glasses at Prompto. “They _seem.”_

Prompto closed his eyes, trying to block out the truth of the words. He didn't know what their intentions were, he shouldn't trust them so much. “I'm sorry,” he whispered.

“What in the world for?” Ardyn carded a hand through Prompto's hair. Prompto wasn't completely sure, he just had an lingering sense of guilt. “You're young,” Ardyn said, his voice getting gentle. “You've learned quite a lot over the last few years, but you still have a lot to learn. That's why I'm here, to help you learn.”

He kept petting Prompto's hair. After a while, Prompto opened his eyes to see Ardyn smiling down at him, that familiar glint to his eyes. He wasn't really looking Prompto in the eyes so much as at his entire face, a distant sort of admiration, but that was normal.

He thought about how Ardyn, technically, had taught him everything he knew. How he took him in, after Besithia became disgusted by him. How, if Ardyn hadn't, he'd probably be turned off and disassembled by now.

His sense of guilt found a direction. “I'm sorry,” he said, “for leaving earlier. For not telling you.” He owed Ardyn more than he’s been giving him. He owed him everything, really.

Ardyn's smile turned more satisfied, and Prompto felt relief. “Good. Don't do it again.”

And the relief was quickly tinged with worry. Did he mean ‘don't leave without saying anything’, or ‘don't leave alone, at all’? Prompto asked, “If I tell you I'm going to the park, will you let me go by myself?”

“What if I say no?” Ardyn’s smile was sharp. “Will you go anyway?”

“I…” Prompto faltered.

“That doesn't sound like the answer of a man who's actually sorry.”

Prompto flinched. “No, I am, I just—you don't want to go as much as I do, so letting me go by myself seems like the most obvious solution, right?”

Ardyn hummed, turning his eyes back towards Prompto's open chest. “I'm not very comfortable with that.”

“Please?” Prompto tried to sit up a little, and Ardyn's hand shot out to keep him still. “Please. I need to—get out more. This place is suffocating.”

He wanted to talk to Ignis more—to learn what the hell happened earlier, to learn about the world of magic which Prompto hadn't seen until today, to learn about—maybe Ignis would know what he was? He seemed to know a lot, maybe he had some answers for Prompto.

Like, can people come back from the dead? Knowing that would help a lot.

“Quit moving,” Ardyn ordered when Prompto tried sitting up again.

“I can't stay inside all day! I'll get bugs!” He shoved Ardyn's arm. “Literally _and_ figuratively!”

“You haven't exactly shown me you deserve that freedom,” Ardyn snapped.

“I'll—I'll do something.” Prompto tried not to feel guilty—he owed Ardyn everything, yes, and this was very greedy of him. But—he wanted to see Ignis again, to learn more, to _understand._ It was like a need. Prompto ignored the voice in his mind, which sounded suspiciously like Ardyn, reminding him that curiosity killed the cat. “What do you want me to do?”

Ardyn frowned. “You already are supposed to do whatever I tell you, there's nothing you can offer me that you shouldn't already be doing.”

Prompto tried to think of something. “I’ll stop talking to Nyx.” He looked Ardyn as steadily in the eyes as he could. He didn't want Ardyn to see how hard the idea was to him, he needed Ardyn to believe he'd commit to this. _He_ needed to believe he could commit to it. “I only really talk to them since they're around, and I can't go other places. If I could go out more, you wouldn't have to worry about them kidnapping me anymore.”

 _“We_ wouldn't have to worry anymore,” Ardyn corrected, almost automatically. He searched Prompto's eyes, his expression calculating. When he sat back, his smile was genuine, but his eyes were sharp. “You're lucky I'm in a kind mood today. Perhaps a compromise can be reached.”

“A compromise?”

“Well,” Ardyn drawled, “I still don't like the idea of you being alone, you see. But I can agree to your terms, if you take a doll with you.”

Prompto's eyes widened. “A doll?” That. Will be hard to explain to Ignis. “Wouldn't that just put both of us in danger?”

Ardyn shrugged one shoulder. “With two of you, one is more likely to get away, to be able to get help. It's safer.”

Prompto paused, watching Ardyn's expression. “I can't get you to change your mind on this, can I?”

“No. You take this deal, or you're being grounded. Either way, you'll have dolls watching you.”

Prompto froze. “Grounded?”

“Yes,” Ardyn raised an eyebrow, “grounded. You didn't think you'd get away with sneaking out without consequences, did you?”

Wait...wasn't _this_ the punishment? This whole ordeal, making Prompto sit down to get poked around in even though he hated it. Wait, shit, was Ardyn actually just doing this as a check-up? Was he not being purposefully distant to make the whole process more uncomfortable? He must have just been tired, just doing his job.

Ugh, Prompto cursed himself for being so bad at reading signals. He was nervous for no reason here.

“You're lucky I don't turn you off,” Ardyn said all matter-of-fact, and Prompto's chest seized. “Honestly, I think you've been worrying me enough lately to warrant it.”

“I was only gone for an hour!” Prompto protested.

 _“And_ you hurt yourself in that time, lied about everything, and had snuck out in the first place.” Ardyn took off his glasses to look down his nose at Prompto, and eyebrow raised. “What do _you_ think you deserve for that? Go on, let me hear it.”

Prompto opened his mouth, shut it. “A...fifteen minute time-out?”

“Try again.” Ardyn didn't look amused.

Prompto hoped Ardyn wasn't making him sign his own jail warrant. “Uh...three days house arrest, one day grounding?”

“I daresay I agree,” Ardyn said. “But since I'm feeling charitable, as I often do, the compromise will have to do. However, Prompto,” Ardyn stood, looking down at him, “do _not_ make me regret this.”

“I won't,” Prompto promised. And, okay, he knew it was going to be weird and awkward bringing a doll along. But maybe Prompto can be honest, tell Ignis that his boss was worried about him and didn't want to send him away alone. Ignis would probably understand.

If he didn't, it probably wasn't actually safe to be around him after all.

“Good.” Ardyn swept around, retrieving the doll he'd been working on earlier. He began opening it up, then going over to his other bench and doing who knows what, and Prompto continued lying on his table, under the light. He was antsy, tapping his fingers rhythmically against his leg, but he didn't dare get up. Ardyn hadn't said he could, and he didn't feel like testing his patience any more today.

Besides, Ardyn hadn't closed his chest, which meant they weren't done yet.

Ardyn returned with some ratchet wheels and a brass ball joint. He sat, taking tools to the top of Prompto’s chest. “I’m going to disengage a click spring in your shoulder, stay still.”

“Okay,” Prompto said, and his arm got that weird fuzzy-numb feeling in it. He couldn’t move his fingers. Ardyn mumbled something about something being bent, and began taking some parts out. Prompto turned his head to watch him as he used a let-down key to allow the spring to unwind in his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Prompto asked, even though he had a vague guess.

“I’m replacing one of the ratchet wheels around the mainspring powering your arm, since it appears to be bent.” Ardyn’s tone was unfocused, yet gentle, in that way that happened when he was focusing, not really paying attention to what he was saying. Prompto preferred it to his calculatedly friendly tone. “I believe that is part of why your movements haven’t been as smooth, though the rusted ball joint didn’t help.”

In the silence that followed, Prompto tried keeping the conversation going. “Are you going to replace the joint too?”

“Hmm?” Ardyn blinked at him, then at the joint. “Ah, yes. Temporarily, at least. It won’t fit quite right, since the joint is from a doll’s ankle, but this way it won’t completely break before we can visit Besithia for a replacement.”

“Okay.” Prompto blinked slowly up at the dark ceiling above him, past the lamp shining brightly down on him. He didn’t know what else to say, or if Ardyn would let him talk.

Prompto closed his eyes, letting his mind wander, mostly thinking about the day and trying to reconcile it all. It’s been confusing. Between the over-excitement of the date, the realisation it was a date at all, Nyx and the others being so kind for no reason, and him misreading Ardyn’s intentions here, he felt way in over his head.

He was actually looking forwards to the play, to just dancing and feeling the music, getting lost in the blue light of the stage and the dark sea of the crowd. Even putting the makeup on before felt like a welcome routine, one Ardyn would set him free to do before too long.

He didn't have to think when he was performing, and he welcomed the silence at this point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Libertus and the others lied to cover Prompto's absence, but Ardyn noticed he was gone anyway. Ardyn gets Prom to sit down for a check up and repairs, which Prom hates.
> 
> Ardyn gets Prompto to think that Nyx and the others are suspiciously nice. Prompto promises to stop talking to Nyx on the condition that he gets to leave the theatre when he wants, and Ardyn gets him to believe that having a doll watching him whenever he leaves is a reasonable compromise.
> 
> Can you believe I managed to write 5,000 words about that? Smh, awful. I hope it wasn't super rambly or anything
> 
> Anyway!! Thanks for reading, hmu on tumblr at themusecalliope.tumblr.com if you wanna c:


	5. It's Easy to Feel Like You Don't Need Help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween! Sorry this isn’t spookier, I should have planned ahead to pace it to be more seasonally appropriate. Oh well! Can't wait til December so I can also fail at making something festive :’ )
> 
> This one took a bit bc I was cleaning up my outline, so ik more specifics about where I’m going. But also SURPRISE OF SURPRISES I now have a beta reader! Thank you teneniel for pointing out my silly errors <3
> 
> I hope you enjoy!!

Stuff was _happening_ , and Noctis wasn't happy about it. Change was always a pain in the butt, and he'd rather be lazing about and enjoying his routine. But no, the storms had to be up and going crazy, Ignis had to go and get stressed after his date instead of starry-eyed, and the entire Caelum Household had been frantic for _days_ in preparation for the arrival of Lunafreya Nox Fleuret—head mage and heiress of the Nox Fleuret Magic Household, master of the art of Summoning and Astromancy, chosen scribe of the Astral Shiva, and the youngest person in history to bear the title of Oracle.

When she arrived yesterday, he could only look at her and remember the girl who cried when she spilled blueberry cake on her white dress.

“Luna,” he whined quietly, not looking away from the handful of people in front of them and trying to keep a professional appearance, “why is everything so crazy lately?”

They sat on a short dais with a rich, dark awning hanging overhead, which blocked out what little sunlight made it through the clouds and trees. It was raining lightly, though the dark clouds promised more to come. They were positioned on the lawn of the Citadel, aka the base of operations for the Caelum Magic Household, aka the magic center of the city, aka Noctis’ house. They’d been handing out sigils and helping those who came however they could.

Dad needed a break, and while doing stuff sucked, Noctis volunteered to help out with this. Shit’d been too crazy for him to leave his dad to it all by himself.

Plus, it wasn't so bad with Luna here to help.

“You're in a transitionary period,” she said, then smiled easily at yet another bowing woman in front of them. Luna handed her a sigil, offering a small blessing and wishing her a good day. As the woman backed away, she continued her aside. “A shift is coming, and with it will arrive stability, but the times before a shift are always chaotic.”

He squinted at her, running his hands over a charm of good health that a little girl handed to him. “Are you saying that, like, in general, or did you foresee something specific happening?” He couldn’t find a place for his magic to go, so he pressed on the braided string between the carved sticks that made up the charm. With a small flash of blue, he forced the string into being a sort of magic net, and offered a touch of the Crystal’s magic and a gentle blessing from Bahamut. The magic took, and he handed it back to the girl. “Please report to the guards ahead where you got that charm, it seemed to be a fake,” he explained gently. “We’d like to know who's selling faulty items, okay?”

The girl’s eyes widened, and she bobbed her head with a frantic nod. “Yessir!”

As she scrambled off, an older man hobbled up with a banishing sigil in his hands. Noctis held back a sigh, taking the offered sigil. He traced his hands over the markings in the stone with a practiced certainty that came from having already done it dozens of times that day. Luna handed a powered sigil to two boys wearing wooden animal masks, taken from a basket full of other sigils that Noctis and the Glaives powered earlier.

“Both,” Luna said, and Noctis took a moment to understand what she was talking about. “You will find a balance soon, and the balance will come from pieces that are currently adding to the confusion.”

Noctis smiled at the old man waiting patiently in front of him. He handed the charged sigil back with a nod to acknowledge the man's thanks, and side-whispered to Luna. “I get that you're the Oracle and all, but why do you have to be so generically vague.” He put a healthy dose of exasperation into his voice, to let her know exactly how he felt despite his continued effort to smile.

“Because there are rules to follow surrounding pacts with Astrals,” she said, tone unreadable, serene smile still on her face too. “You should know this, sir heir of the Crystal, Chosen of Hand of Bahamut, descendant of the First Mage Lucis Caelum, Source of—”

“Yeah okay, stop, I get it. I know.” And _boy_ did he know. There were too many rules to follow, frankly. Stupid dumb ancestor making an overly complex pact that spanned generations. Ugh.

“Also, it's amusing,” she continued, and Noctis took a moment to understand.

He sat forward to stare at her. “Are—are you serious?”

“Look busy, dear,” she chastised. A short woman came up with a toddler on her hip, both of whom were wearing crude wooden masks. She asked for a banishing sigil, and yet another quiet blessing lit Lunafreya’s hands golden as she passed it over. Luna didn't technically need to do that, she wasn't powering them or anything, she just wanted to offer extra luck to the people, and Noctis really liked that about her. The woman bowed respectfully, and turned to Noctis.

“Mage-lucis Caelum,” she said hesitantly, and Noctis carefully didn't react to being called by the same title as his dad, “I wanted to tell you that I saw a spirit on the East side of the city, just beyond the wall. I—my neighbours said I should tell ya.” She ducked her head. “I don't mean to be a bother.”

Noctis internally re-assessed how old he thought she was—her voice and hesitation made her sound young, maybe sixteen at oldest. “Thank you for telling me,” he offered a smile, “it was the right choice. Was it violent at all?”

She hesitated. “I'm—not sure. I didn't go close, but it seemed—upset.”

“Upset,” Noctis echoed gently. They really needed to find out what was happening. He focused back on her. “We’ll look into it. Staying away was a good choice, for now. Please spread the word to others to not engage with spirits, even if they appear normal.”

“Can do, Mr. Mage—Sir—uh. Mage-lucis Caelum.” She gave a little bow to both of them, and turned on her way.

He sighed and leaned back. _“Another_ one.”

Despite the sudden markup of spirits, they'd been unsuccessful in contacting any. Okay, yes, they'd only technically tried twice now, but Noctis had thought it would be easier. They seem to be super active, after all. Why _wouldn't_ they respond to the Oracle?

He was almost worried that the banishing sigils were messing up Luna’s communion. But most of them were made to banish evil spirits, not normal ones, so he wasn't sure what was going wrong. Unless they were all evil? Which would be, like, really bad.

Luna shook her head. “We’ll figure it out. You know this city better than I—do you know of any ley lines in the East?”

“There's a few, not a lot. Why?”

“Are any connected to Niflheim?”

Noctis raised an eyebrow. “You think they're coming from Niflheim?” It wasn't impossible; the Northern country had a rather poor relationship with spirits, and the environment in general. Messing with the domain of the spirits made them unstable, and with how incredibly industrial Niflheim was, they ended up with a lot of newly formed demons.

Luna hummed. “I think we should keep the possibility in mind.”

He tried to remember their current ley line map. “I'm not sure, I'd have to check. But I think the Eastern ley lines connect to Tenebrae, not Niflheim.”

She nodded. “We should send someone over to see if any new ones have formed, then.”

Fuck, if that was what's happening, then it was gonna be hard to deal with. Humans could barely know where ley lines were, let alone change their course or break them. And with a steady supply of messed up spirits coming from Niflheim, getting close would be hard.

“The lines _have_ been agitated recently,” he mumbled, thinking. He slouched back. “Ugh, I hope you're wrong.”

“As do I. I'm much better at spiritual diplomacy than forceful magical redirection.”

Noctis snorted. “You just made both options sound difficult.”

“That's because they are,” she smiled wryly at him, “to most, anyway.” She looked at the garden entrance again, and raised an eyebrow. “May I ask a question in regards to your local cultural practices?”

Noctis fought a smile, wondering to himself if all people from Tenebrae talked like that. Ignis and Luna were so overly formal. “Sure, shoot.”

“Why are the children wearing masks?”

Noctis turned his attention to where she was looking, and saw a group of children wearing unique and bizarre wooden masks. A few were made from burlap, with sewn faces instead of carved. They kept pointing across the street at Noct’s house, pushing each other and giggling. “Uh,” he began hesitantly. “I think it's a paranoia thing? It's supposed to trick spirits into thinking you're one of them, and they'll leave you alone.”

“I see.” Her eyes softened. “So they're afraid, and employing what ways they know of to protect themselves.”

“Uh, yeah. That's one way of looking at it.” They watched the kids as they pushed one in particular forward, probably the oldest at a grand height of four foot nothing. He—or, well, Noctis thought it was a boy, he wasn't really sure—wore a wooden mask with crown-like spikes that rose far above his head. His wide eyes could be seen through the huge, carved eyeholes.

He inched his way past the gate, paused to stare at the guards and then at Noctis and Luna (who politely pretended not to see him), and then sprinted the rest of the way up to them.

“H-hi!” he squeaked. Noctis and Luna smiled sideways at each other.

“Hey there,” Noctis leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “What can we do for you?”

“Do you need a banishing sigil?” Luna asked gently. “Or is your mask working well enough?”

“N-no, uh,” he fidgeted, “I’m good, thank you.”

“It’s a lovely mask,” Luna said, “I’m not surprised.”

“Uh! Thank you!” Noctis could see that the kid’s ears were turning red. His friends were peeking around the gate and giggling. “My, uh, my friends wanted to say you're really pretty! And that we hope you're having a nice day!”

Noctis made a point of preening, interrupting Luna before she could answer. “Thanks, I spent _all_ morning on my hair.”

The kid looked up at him with wide eyes, and turned to look back at his giggling friends in a panic. “No, I didn't mean—not that you’re not pretty too! But I—we—missus Lunafreya was who— _have a nice day!”_ he screeched and sprinted back, his trajectory leading straight into—was that—

“Look out!” Noctis shouted, but it was too late—the kid barreled right into Ignis.

“You have a lovely day, too!” Luna called as they stumbled over each other, Ignis holding the kid's shoulders to keep him upright. The kid shouted “THANK YOU,” and ran to his laughing friends, a few of them waving as they raced away.

Ignis blinked dazedly around him. “Was he thanking you, or me for catching him?”

“Yes,” Luna deadpanned.

Noctis snickered at her, then gave Ignis a single wave. “Hey, Specs. Is it lesson time already?”

“I wouldn't say ‘already’,” Ignis said dryly. “I'm actually a few minutes late.”

“Whoa, seriously?” Noctis raised an eyebrow at him. “That’s unlike you.” Ignis? Late? Honestly, Noctis knew he shouldn't be surprised. Ignis had been out of it for a few days.

Noctis recalled when he'd noticed a bruise swelling on Ignis’ head, the day after his date, and had tried asking him what happened. Ignis had just looked at him, a seething sort of stress trapped behind his eyes that only manifested when shit went awry, and said “Tiny rocks,” before walking off to who knows where to do who knows fucking what.

When Ignis got like that, sometimes it was best to just leave him be. The past seven years had taught everyone that the man was a whirlwind of productive chaos when he was planning stuff—and helping others understand what he was doing wasn't always part of his agenda.

Plus, everyone had been stressed lately. Between the storms, Lunafreya’s arrival, prepping for the Equinox Festival, the date going poorly (apparently?), and Ignis planning out the next one (APPARENTLY?), Noctis wasn't even slightly surprised that he had no fucking clue what was going through Ignis’ head.

“Even though you didn't notice, I apologise for being late,” Ignis said with a short bow. “Your time is valuable, and I did not mean to waste it.”

“Alright, dude. Let's just get the lessons started already, yeah?” Noctis stood and gestured to the Glaives near the gate, signalling them to come over. “Five minutes of my time isn't anything.”

Ignis stood straight again. “It's a professionally responsible practice to be courteous about others’ time.”

Noctis made a face as the Glaives arrived. “Are you apologising, or lecturing me?”

“I am simply being courteous.” Ignis watched Noctis direct the Glaives’ positions and explain to them their duty in taking his place, a spiel that both parties knew well and were equally bored of. When he was done, Ignis addressed Noctis again. “Additionally, I'm a firm believer in leading by example.”

“So you _are_ lecturing me. Rude.” He hopped off the dias, waving as he walked. “Bye Luna, see you later.”

“Good evening, Mage-lucis Lunafreya.” Ignis bowed his head before following Noctis towards the front door.

Luna smiled after them. “Good luck.”

Ignis quickly caught up to Noctis with his giraffe legs. Once they were out of earshot of the dais, Noctis whispered “Am I the only one who gets kinda nervous when she says stuff like that?”

“What?” Ignis held the door open for him. “Good luck?”

“Yeah. Coming from her it's like, why? Did you see something going wrong?” Noctis passed him with a shrug. “Same thing with you, honestly. I don't trust your well-wishes.”

“Just because we have premonitions of the future, doesn't mean we see every aspect of your life,” Ignis said dryly. “We wish you well out of the kindness of our hearts.”

Noctis didn’t buy it. “I think she knows it makes me nervous, and that's why she does it.”

“That doesn't seem very much like something her ladyship would do,” Ignis said as they turned down the corridor. “Small hall or large hall today?”

“Then you don’t know her very well,” Noctis said flatly. “Small hall. You said you wanted to practice minor spells, right?”

“Ah, yes, that’s right. Forgive me for forgetting.”

Noctis twisted his head back to squint up at Ignis. “You sure you’re okay?”

Ignis held his chin high. “I’m certain, thank you.”

“Head’s not too bad?”

“I’m getting plenty of rest.”

Noctis snorted. “Okay, we both know that’s a lie.”

Ignis paused. “I’m...spending plenty of time sitting, and Gladio has been forcing me into bed at eleven.”

“And do you go to _sleep_ at eleven?”

“Allegedly,” Ignis said smoothly. “Please, Noctis, I assure you I’m fine. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

Noctis wasn’t completely convinced of that—Ignis had eccentricities, like any good mage. His just happened to manifest into a focus that blocked out all other needs. It was good sometimes, bad other times. “You gonna tell me what’s going with you exactly?” Noctis asked, mentally noting to ask Gladio to grow some herbs for a sleeping potion, if the herbalist wasn’t already doing so. “What happened on the date, what you’re planning now?”

“I...yes, I do, eventually.” Ignis sighed. “I just—would like to focus on making my plans right for the weekend.”

“Uh-huh.” Noctis paused with a hand on the door to the small training-hall. “It couldn’t have been _that_ bad. Definitely not as much of a catastrophe as your attempts at courting when you were a teenager.”

Ignis’ eyes turned unfocused in the midst of memories long buried. “At least I now know why it was so hard to ask girls out.”

“Is it because you’re gay as fuck?”

“Indeed,” he said solemnly.

Noctis laughed, pushing open the doors. There were a few desks along the back wall, supplied with ink and spell scrolls, and a few benches along the sides. The middle had some steps leading down to a sand pit, where the mages were supposed to use their magic—though burn marks in weird corners of the room told a tale of rulebreakers. The ceiling was low, the wood dark, and every surface was enchanted to be fire-, ice-, and generally magic-resistant.

“Alright,” Noctis clapped, turning to face Ignis, “what do you want to start with?”

Ignis raised an eyebrow at him. “Shouldn’t you be the one directing this? You’re the teacher here, Noctis.”

“Yeah,” he walked backwards into the room, shrugging, “but you’re the one with all these plans no one knows about. I don’t know what, exactly, you want to master by the end of the week.”

“Not master,” Ignis defended. “Just—make sure I am steady in my abilities.”

Noctis smiled mischievously. “Are you trying to show off to him?” He jumped the two feet ledge into the sand.

“No, I—” Ignis faltered, then sighed. “I’m trying to show him some more—positive magic.”

“Positive magic?”

“Entertainment...things.” Ignis gestured vaguely, following Noctis into the pit, using the stairs like a basic bitch. “Magic that isn't too intense, nothing frightening.”

“Okay,” Noctis said slowly. “Why?”

“He's from Niflheim,” Ignis answered, and Noctis understood immediately.

“Right, okay.” He pursed his lips. “Show me how you've been doing with illusions. Manifest your magic.”

Ignis followed Noctis to the center of the pit, clasping his palms together. Noctis watched him, checking off what he doing right. Ignis closed his eyes, to visualise the flow of his magic; check. His position, an even stance, seemingly relaxed; check. Separating his hands slowly, to not break the stream of magic; check.

A flickering red-orange glow appeared between Ignis’ hands, wispy and arching. It wasn't completely steady, but Ignis was able to open his eyes without it dissipating. Everything he was doing looked right.

And yet.

“Alright,” Noctis watched the frown on Ignis’ lips, the way he had to fight to keep his shoulders relaxed, the calculated distance between his hands, “now turn it into a flower.”

Ignis breathed in slowly. He whispered the primordial word for _lily,_ and cupped his hands. The flickering light settled above them, gently elongating and breaking apart into petals. It was still edged with the red light of Ignis’ magic, but he managed to make the petals white, adding some details into the pollen at the centre.

“Good.” And yet. “Make more,” Noctis ordered.

Ignis’ mouth tightened, then relaxed. He spread his hands further apart, the magic branching out and becoming a bouquet. The center ones had white petals, but less details. As the flowers approached the edges, they became mostly outlines, formed almost entirely out of red light.

“You know what I'm gonna say,” Noctis said flatly, and Ignis made an annoyed sound. “Your form is good, but you're overthinking it.” He walked forwards. “Try to _feel_ it more,” he poked at one of the lilies, his finger passing through, “you're making them all look the same. You're too rigid, too focused on making them right that you're forgetting to remember their essence.”

Ignis dropped the illusion with a sigh. “I still don't fully understand what you mean by that.”

Noctis closed his eyes, lifting up his hand. “Think of—”

“Emotionally driven memories, yes, I'm aware.”

Noct’s lips twitched into a smile, and he peeked one eye up at Ignis. “Feel that memory, the emotions. Remember why those flowers made you feel that way.” He closed his eyes again, focusing his magic into his palm. He remembered Tenebrae, sitting in a breezy field when he was a child, eating jelly sandwiches with Lunafreya and watching the dogs chase butterflies. He couldn't remember what they talked about, but he knew he felt like sunshine. Lunafreya had taken one of the sylleblossoms, placing it under a page in their journal, drawing over it with charcoal, imprinting its shape into the page permanently.

He didn't have to look to know his magic bloomed into a sylleblossom. “It's not a perfect recreation of what it looked like,” he opened his eyes, “but it's how my spirit embodies it. Magic has a different sort of memory to us—it's more of a collective memory, remembering the essence of what you _and_ others felt about it, and shaping the thing according to those memories.”

“And I focus too much on my own memory and what _I_ think it should look like,” Ignis finished. “I know, I've read the theory and I've heard your lectures. It's just—harder done than said.”

“Some people have a penchant for Intuition magic, but your skills are a lot more technical. Specific measurements of stars’ distance and degrees of light and all that.” Noctis shrugged. “You shouldn't beat yourself up over it. At least you can manifest your magic into shapes now—that's better than a few years ago, right?”

“And it doesn't take an hour of concentration to achieve it anymore, either.” Ignis shook his head. “I know I've improved, I'm just frustrated by how slow my progress has been.”

Noctis passively played with the sylleblossom, making it blossom new buds, wayward strands of his blue magic drifting around it lazily. “You've gotten a lot better at manipulating energy, why not freeze your hands for Prompto? Or show him a bit of lightning magic, make his hair stand up.”

Ignis shook his head. “No lightning. But...I do intend to show him some elemental magic. Fire, perhaps—just a small light, nothing too stunning.”

“Use it to warm his hands up?” Noctis suggested with a smile. “Secretly do it to hold his hands?”

Ignis blushed, adjusting his glasses to hide it. “Where is all this coming from? I'd expect Gladio to be pushing romance on me, but it's been primarily you from the start.”

Noctis pursed his lips, peering at the sylleblossom floating above his hand. “I guess…” It wilted, the petals falling gentle and dreamlike. “I just want you to have something more than work and lessons. It seems like you're not really living. Like, while I don't think you're unhappy, you don't seem _happy_ either.” He clenched his hand, and the sylleblossom grew more leaves, branching out until there were several flowers, their roots wrapping around his fist. “I just want to see you happy, I guess.”

Noctis patently refused to look Ignis in the eyes when he responded. He spoke carefully, thank god, cause if he got all mushy then Noctis would probably dig a hole in the sand and never come out. “I see. That's...remarkably emotionally open, for you.”

“I know,” he said flatly. “You owe me for it, by telling me about what the shit happened on your date that's gotten you all riled up.” He dropped the illusion, putting his hands in his pockets.  “Like, honestly, now I'm wondering if you're using this whole thing as an excuse to refine your skills. It's kinda destroying the entire point of you going on dates.”

“That's not—I'm not intentionally doing that.” When Noctis finally met his eyes, Ignis was frowning. “I _will_ explain what happened, but I want to think it over more first.”

“You get too lost in your own head, sometimes,” Noctis pointed out. “You've been thinking it over for days now.”

“I've been _planning_ for days. Both for the weekend, and for the Festival in a few weeks. Not—thinking over what happened.”

“Alright,” Noctis said slowly. “That might be worse. Are you avoiding thinking about it?”

“You know as well as anyone that I can be remarkably single-minded when planning.”

Okay, fair enough. At least Noctis knew Ignis was remembering to eat, since he and Gladio had been taking food over to him. But otherwise? He'd probably forget.

“Right.” Noctis shook his head. “Let's get back to making your date go right, yeah? And then we can talk. Try more illusions, but worry less about the details this time. The lillies don't have to be white, they can be simple outlines, just make sure you maintain control.”

Ignis did better, after that point—with illusions, at least. He could make the objects Noctis asked him to, mostly outlines. He even managed to make a few of them transform smoothly into each other, instead of disappearing and reforming—like a small dragon, which Ignis had spread its wings, turning them into leaves, its body becoming a trunk.

But with controlling the ice on his hands, he was having trouble. Noctis tried suggesting he use lighting instead—Ignis thought he was better at it because it was similar to fire (he used the word exothermic to explain it once, and Noctis stopped listening. Noctis thought it was because he believed he was better at it, so he was. Intuition magic was fickle like that). But Ignis insisted that he wasn't going to use lightning magic because it was too frightening.

“And fire magic isn't?” Noctis shot back.

“I have better control over it,” Ignis responded. “And everyone has seen a candle or a fire up close—few have been next to lightning.”

Noctis thought that was even more reason to show it off, but whatever.

Somewhere between practicing elemental magic and reviewing Ignis’ primordial vocabulary, Noctis suggested they take a break. Ignis was beginning to have a hard time with the primordial, and he was usually pretty good at that one. Noctis figured he was getting burned out.

They sat on one of the benches, and Ignis held his hand out, palm up.

Noctis blinked at it. Ignis stared owlishly down at it. “Are you kidding me,” he muttered, irked. He shook his hand.

Noctis slowly reached out and gave him a high five.

Ignis clutched his hand to his chest like he was burned. “Noctis.” He sounded hurt.

“...Ignis?”

“I don't appreciate you making fun of me.”

“I have no idea what you were doing,” Noctis answered honestly.

Ignis managed to look more hurt. Then he held his palm out again. He stared at it intensely. Noctis waited, and they both watched as nothing happened. Ignis made a frustrated noise, pushing his glasses up to rub at his eyes.

“There there,” Noctis said, not reaching out to comfort him whatsoever.

“I can’t believe this,” Ignis whispered. “This might be the worst week of my life.”

Noctis very carefully didn’t laugh at him. “That bad, huh?”

“Nothing is going right,” Ignis continued. “What have I done to deserve this?”

“Can I help you out?” Noctis asked. “What were you trying to do?”

Ignis looked at him with pained eyes. And then he put his face in his hands. “I made some snacks for training today,” his voice came out muffled, “I put them in the armiger to keep fresh.”

Okay, Noctis actually laughed this time. “You couldn’t—access the armiger?” That was like, Caelum magic 101. Even new Glaives got the hang of it within the first month.

“Please, spare me your cruelty. I know.”

“Dude.” Noctis grinned. “Wow. Okay, you’re _really_ pushing yourself too hard this week.” Ignis grumbled at him. “Right, let's get some food in you. What did you make?”

“Honey wafers.”

Noctis closed his eyes and looked into the armiger, poking into other people’s sections of the weird blue void-space inside the crystal. He thought of those tasty-ass wafers Ignis made, remembering the first time he had them when he was fifteen—

The sound of a tin crashing to the floor had Noctis opening his eyes.

Ignis stared down at it blearily. “Saturday is going to be a catastrophe.”

“Look, the wafers are fine. The lid may have opened, and we both fucked up catching it, but hey.” Noctis knelt down to collect the paper-wrapped wafers. “We fucked up together.”

Ignis took the tin from Noctis when he finished messily piling them back in. He picked a wafer up, inspecting it. “Paper wrapping is the only thing keeping my life from collapsing.”

“You need to chill.” This date thing really backfired, goddamn. “You’re having trouble cause you’re stressed and overworking yourself—Intuition magic isn't like Symbol magic, you can't just power through it when your mind isn't in the right state.”

“I'm very well aware,” Ignis sighed.

“I know, just,” Noctis shrugged, “let’s talk about it. That’ll help. Did things not go according to plan on the date?”

“Understatement of the century,” Ignis muttered. “I had not made a lot of plans, as I was unfamiliar with Foxtail park and I thought it would be best to let Prompto act as a guide. But I made lunch, and I looked into paths to the park.”

When Ignis stopped talking, with a frown on his face like he wasn't going to continue, Noctis reached over and took a wafer. “Okay, and?”

“And we went off that path almost immediately,” he said passively. “But it wasn't bad—it was enjoyable, really. Prompto has an—exlemperary view of the world. But he—” Ignis faltered. “He's unusual,” he finished, and Noctis smiled crookedly.

“Like that's a problem for you,” he said with a slight laugh. “Didn't you start learning magic _because_ the mages you met were weird? Weirdness is like, catnip to you.”

Ignis frowned. “Yes, I find unusual figures are the most interesting to look into. And Prompto is fascinating to me, too. But he…” His voice faltered. “Your skill in magic is more instinctual than mine. Did you…feel anything unusual about him?”

Noctis tried to remember. “I wasn't really paying attention. Why? What sort of thing do you think I'd notice?”

“I'm not sure. We were attacked by a spirit—”

“What the _fuck?_ And you didn't tell us?”

They looked at each other, equally affronted.

“I've been preoccupied with planning for Saturday, and with preparing for Lunafreya’s arrival,” Ignis defended himself. “And I wanted to consider what happened by myself for a bit, first.”

Noctis sighed, biting his cheek. He knew Ignis; that was probably true. And Noctis wasn't one to lecture people, not really, so he let it slide.

He was mentioning it to Gladio, though. Gladio would have a thing or two to say.

“So what happened?” Noctis asked. “Did you do something to bother it?”

“That's just it, as far as I can tell we didn't do anything. We simply were sitting beneath the roots, eating our lunch—”

“You were where?”

“—when the spirit apparated above us and started screaming.” Ignis sighed. “I could only understand perhaps half of its words, which I must admit has been incredibly vexing to me. It said _hurt,_ and I asked if it was in pain, and it said no. It then went on a tirade, said something about evil, and lunged for Prompto.”

Wait, was that why Ignis was practicing primordial so much? Huh. “Weird.” Noctis frowned, thinking. Spirits don't usually lie—even though they can, despite what the stories say. “I get why you wanted to mull it over yourself first. Do you think…” He hesitated. “Well, do you think it was calling Prompto evil?”

“I don't know. I can't imagine it, Prompto is just so—” He blinked blearily down at the tin on his lap. “He sees beauty in everything, and is incredibly curious. He's—kind. Even when he was afraid after the spirit’s aggression and my display of magic, he still gave me a chance to explain. He still smiled at me and talked on our walk back to the theatre, helping me relax when I should have been the one comforting him. He’s—” He shook his head. “I can't imagine it.”

Noctis raised his eyebrows. Damn, maybe he was more doe-eyed than Noctis had realised. “Alright. Well...that's good. I take it you don't have any better guesses on what it meant, though?”

Sighing yet again, Ignis took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. “It all happened so quickly, I'm not sure what it's intentions were.”

“We'll figure it out,” Noctis reassured. “So...it attacked you, unprompted?”

“I—am hesitant to call it an attack,” Ignis said. “It was a lightning elemental, and a powerful one at that—albeit unstable. If it wanted to cause harm, it could have struck one of us down before we knew it was there. But it just—yelled, and then lunged instead of shooting at us.”

Noctis frowned. “And you don't think that was an attack?”

“It's unusual behaviour for a lightning spirit,” Ignis explained. “They generally fight with spear-like bolts, not by tackling.”

“It could have just been crazy.”

“I suppose. But I'm unsure. Why didn't it get closer? My banishing sigil wasn't activated. Why manifest above the roots, and then crawl its way through? Why not manifest next to us?” His voice got quieter. “Why target Prompto?”

Noctis was at a loss. “I—don't know.” It still just sounded like it was probably crazy to Noctis, but despite being bad at Intuition magic, Ignis had good instincts. His gut feelings were rarely wrong, and it wasn’t just because he could glimpse the future. Noctis frowned into the middle of the room, looking at nothing in particular. There were a lot of questions this conversation brought up, and Noctis wasn't completely sure where to start. “We should ask Lunafreya about this—she knows spirits better than I do. See if she knows what might cause it to act like that.”

“I agree.”

Noctis nudged him with his knee. “Now eat your dang wafers, we gotta polish up your skills before the weekend, right?”

Ignis smiled at him—just a little, but it helped Noctis relax. He didn’t even realise how worried he’d been until then; Ignis had been acting so weird lately, so tense and frazzled, and seeing the negativity dissipate a little was nice.

“Thank you for forcing me to talk,” Ignis said, taking a bite of a wafer. “We didn’t make much progress, but I do feel slightly better, bizarrely.”

“Funny how that works, huh?” Noctis leaned his elbows against his knees. “Brains are weird.”

“Indeed,” Ignis agreed. Noctis let him eat for a bit, watched him apparate a glass bottle of milk from the armiger, and pretended not to see the relief in his eyes when it actually worked. Noctis stared at his hands instead, trying to think about how to help Ignis improve to a point that he’d feel comfortable for Saturday.

He kind of wanted to go with Ignis—do the spells for him—but that sounded awkward. Besides, he needed to be helping Luna contact the spirits, and be there to protect her if something went wrong. Then there was helping dad with the sigils and whatever else he was getting overwhelmed with, and trying to be involved with planning the Equinox Festival—Ignis had said earlier that his presence would help people be less afraid about the spirits, and Noctis knew he was right.

As his thoughts developed, something occurred to Noctis. “Hey, do you remember which Glaives we saw at the theatre?” he asked. “Maybe we could ask them about Prompto.”

Ignis blinked at him, turning his head slightly. “What for?”

Noctis shrugged. “He’s odd, right? Just to see if they’ve noticed anything strange about him too.”

Ignis opened his mouth, shut it, seeming to rethink his words. “That seems like an invasion of privacy,” he said carefully.

Noctis considered Ignis. He seemed to be aware that something weird was happening here, but didn’t want to acknowledge it. While Noct’s experience with Prompto was positive overall, and he didn’t think there’d be much there, they needed to follow any leads they could find. He knew Ignis knew this, and was just grappling with his emotions—which was rare for Ignis, and frankly might actually be a good thing. The man needed to allow himself to feel more.

But Noctis also knew that Ignis listened to reason above all else, so he just needed to give some more tangible reasons.

“We won’t ask anything personal,” Noctis reassured, “just if they can think of a reason why a spirit might want to attack him. We can ask them to intervene if a spirit goes violent around him again, too.”

Ignis began wrapping the wafers up, thinking. “I suppose that’s not too invasive.”

“We need to know more, to understand what’s happening,” Noctis said.

“I understand the need to gain information.”

 _Even if I don’t like it,_ went unsaid.

“We should send some Glaives to the refugee district too,” Noctis said, so Ignis could put together plans to make it happen, “in case there’s a pattern of blonde or pale people being attacked.”

Ignis raised an eyebrow. “You think the spirits are racially prejudiced?”

Noctis shrugged. “Luna suggested that they might be coming in from Niflheim, so maybe they’re angry at people that look Niflheimian. Misplaced revenge, or something.”

“That would be dangerous for refugees.” He had his thinking face on, much closer to how Noctis generally thought of Ignis looking. “You should make a speech, reassure the people that we’re addressing the situation with the spirits. It must be very frightening for the refugees in particular right now, as they escaped Niflheim for this very reason. Even if no one has been attacked yet.”

“Or no one’s been reported to be attacked, anyway.”

Ignis raised both his eyebrows—just slightly, in that way that looked like he was posing and not actually surprised, and was mildly infuriating to Noctis. “That’s remarkably negative and pragmatic, for you. And you’ve been helping me more than I’ve been helping you today. Have we switched roles? Is the world truly turned upside-down?”

Noctis rolled his eyes, standing up. “The times before a shift are always chaotic,” he said half-mockingly.

 _“And_ you’re using divination terms?” Ignis squinted. “I’m being usurped. What will become of my role as astromancer?”

Noctis snorted. “Yeah, maybe we’re switching. You’ll get really good at Intuition magic, and I’ll suddenly start understanding how stars and tea leaves connect somehow.”

Ignis smiled. “One can hope. My weekend would certainly be made easier.”

“Alright well, let’s get on with the lessons, huh? In case that’s not what’s actually happening.”

Ignis nodded, throwing the tin and his bottle into the armiger with a flash. But when he stood up in one quick movement, he wobbled on his feet. He recovered quickly, a slight frown to his lips that he covered up just as fast, but Noctis caught it anyway.

A coin dropped.

“You overworking son of a—are you still dizzy from your concussion?” Noctis leaned forward to glare up at him. “Dude, we are _done_ for today. What the fuck. No wonder you’re having trouble maintaining shit.”

“I’m _fine,_ Noctis,” Ignis defended. “I’ll do better now that I have more in my stomach, and I’ve rested a bit.”

“No, fuck you, we’re going the greenhouse. Gladio is making you some tea and you’re taking a nap.” Noctis dragged a hand over his face. “I swear to the Astrals.”

“I assure you, I know my limits—” Ignis started, but Noctis cut him off with a glare.

“As the Mage-heir of this Household, and your current tutor, I’m officially ordering you to bedrest. Twenty-four hours.” Noctis shook his head. “Gladio’s gonna lend you one of his books and you’re sleeping this off.”

Ignis looked conflicted. “I’m mostly better, Noctis. It really isn’t too bad anymore.”

“Yeah, well,” Noctis started walking towards the door, “consider this your chance to rest up and be in your best shape for Saturday. And I’ll remind you, Intuition magic works better with a clear head. You can’t power through it.”

Ignis stopped complaining after that, but Noctis could still feel the unhappiness radiating off him, even walking a few paces behind. Oh, well. He’d just have to deal with being forced to relax.

Honestly, why couldn’t Ignis have had a normal type of mage eccentricity? Why couldn’t he just be obsessed with the colour blue, or cats? Why did he have to be the type to work himself to the grave.

Noctis sighed, slowing down to be next to Ignis. “I’ll bring you a book on illusion theory, okay? Just stay in bed, and try to relax. Don’t try applying any of the theories from the book until this time tomorrow.”

“I can do that,” Ignis said. He paused. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

It wasn’t until Ignis was in bed (more of a cot, really—one that Gladio kept in the back of the greenhouse for those bizarre days when he felt like he needed to be surrounded by plants, even after dark, or couldn’t sleep without them) that it occurred to Noctis that he never even found out what happened with tiny rocks that resulted in Ignis’ concussion.

Noctis decided he didn’t need to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘Lucis’ is a title of sorts, in a similar vein to how czar comes from Julius Caesar. So the head mage of any magic Household is called Mage-lucis [their name]. So instead of being King Regis Lucis Caelum, in this au he’s Mage-lucis Regis Caelum. Noct when he's older will be Mage-lucis Noctis Caelum. For now he's just Mage Noctis Caelum.
> 
> (Other households do this too, cause Lucis was the first mage—it’s a universal indicator. Lunafreya, as the current head of the Fleuret Household, is Mage-lucis Lunafreya Nox Fleuret) (also can someone explain to me why her mom is named Via Fleuret instead of Nox Fleuret, like both of her children)
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Kudos are always appreciated and comments are read with love <3


	6. While Our Shadows Keep Watching Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, sorry this one took so long to upload! It ended up being a doozy, clocking in at almost 9k words. Which uh, is definitely a record for me. Thanks again to my beta Teneniel for pointing out my mistakes and offering suggestions! I really appreciate it ^-^
> 
> Here we go!! Hope you enjoy

Prompto looked down at the doll by his side, wondering if it was gonna act weird on the date—meet up—what did Ignis called it? The learning experience. Yes, he wondered how it would act on the Learning Experience.

Like, generally the dolls kinda just stood and stared, or hid and stared. When they had jobs to do, they tuned instruments and cleaned up, or whatever else. But usually, they were really docile. He just didn't know if Ardyn gave it a job beyond watching and protecting Prompto, or even how it would handle that job.

He crouched down to look Eyeball in the mismatched eyes. “You better not tackle Ignis for talking to me, or anything like that,” he threatened.

It stared back at him.

Prompto huffed, poking it in the chest. “I'm being serious, now. Behave yourself.” Then he stood, looking around the workshop for a specific box. “Where're you guys keeping your clothing right now?”

Eyeball turned around, and lead him out of the room. He followed it into the back storage room, up to the caravan—a huge steam-powered thing, able to carry all the props, some lights for the venues that had none, and a side that opened outwards to act like a makeshift stage, for when they wanted to set up a show in a random town after running out of money.

The doll pointed at it.

“Really? You left it in there?” He climbed into the back and held out a hand to help the doll. “What,” he said as he pulled it up, “you guys not wanna go into the workshop either?”

As expected, there's no response from Eyeball, and Prompto didn't wait for one. He looked around the frankly messy bay, and spotted the box full of ‘commoner clothing’—what the dolls wore for some of their more modern bits, at smaller venues. He rifled through it, glancing back at Eyeball. He held up a small scarf.

“Do you think this matches me? I think it's a nice shade of blue.” He smiled, holding the scarf up to his neck. “Whaddya say, why don't we switch for a day?”

He stood and walked the few steps over to Eyeball, taking his own scarf off. He draped it over the doll's head and shoulders in a heap. “There. You look great. Hides your gears, too.” He wrapped the new blue one around his neck, tying it and tucking it in the front. “I feel fancier already.” He smiled at his own antics, even as the silence felt heavy—

“Lookin’ good.”

Prompto jumped so hard he nearly knocked Eyeball over. “Nyx!” He stood at attention. “Uh.”

“Playing dress up?” Nyx was leaning against the entrance of the caravan, smiling crookedly. “Or going out somewhere new?”

“Both. Kinda.” Prompto felt a tug on his shirt, and glanced down to see Eyeball looking up at him with a serious expression. “I know,” he hissed.

“Where are you going? Somewhere fancy?”

“I'm—sorry, I need to go.” Prompto walked briskly forward, head ducked to avoid looking at Nyx. “I'm going to be late.”

“Oh?” Nyx said, voice bright. “So it _is_ fancy. Where're you going that you have a reservation?”

Prompto hopped out of the back, brushing past Nyx. “Nothing like that.”

Nyx didn't say anything at first, but as Prompto approached the back exit, he heard him say a quiet “Right, okay.” The lack of smile in his voice made it feel hard to move, but Prompto powered through the door anyway.

The last few days had been hard. Nyx had two shifts—three, including today—and on each one he came up to Prompto, smiling and armed with his usual barbs and sarcasm. And each time, Prompto shut him down, closing him out and finding somewhere else to be. Nyx almost seemed to get more friendly, too—instead of more sarcastic and distant, like Prompto expected. Or maybe Prompto's brain was just making stuff up to make him feel worse. Either way, it sucked.

Crowe and Libertus were in the back when Prompto stepped out, but he kept his head down and half dashed towards the side of the theatre. He didn’t slow down much, even when he turned the corner and out of sight. He didn’t know if they’d tried getting his attention. He didn’t want to know.

“Do you think Ardyn would let me get away with talking to them, because the agreement specifically said I couldn’t talk to Nyx?” he asked the doll running next to him, which grabbed his jacket to slow him down. “Right, sorry.” He walked to the front of the theatre, watching the crowds from around the corner. There were people wandering about, some of them pointing at the theatre and talking, some running past. Several were kids wearing weird masks, which was new. That hadn’t happened the last few times he was here, in the winter and fall.

He really wanted to ask them if they made them, or what. He also wanted to know what the rules were to the game they were playing, with the little glass spheres. And if they had a curfew, if they get grounded for breaking it.

He wanted to know a lot of things.

“I’m just saying,” he continued, “he dislikes Nyx in particular. If I were to talk to like, Libertus and _only_ Libertus about—I don’t know, the weather—would that get me in trouble?”

The doll sat down, leaning limply against the theatre wall.

“Yeah,” Prompto sighed, “I think so too.”

He watched the passersby, enjoying the cool air and the wind, until he felt like it was approaching two o’clock—he’d always had a pretty accurate internal clock—and walked to the front entrance proper. He sat on the steps there, and began searching instead of simply watching.

Sure enough, Ignis was making his way through the perpetually crowded streets, damn near arriving on the hour. He was wearing a jacket on top of his shirt today, instead of a cloak like the first time—or just a shirt, the second time. Hooked on his elbow was an umbrella, and a satchel bag hung to his other side.

Ignis broke through the crowd, and smiled when he saw him. “Good afternoon.”

“Hiya.” Prompto stood, stretching like he’d been there a while. He ignored the sudden ball of energy that bubbled up inside him—excitement, apprehension, nervousness, he couldn’t tell. He just knew it kept popping up over the last few days, and it was annoying. It made him want to scream or run or—or something. He wasn’t really sure.

“Are you ready to go?” Ignis asked. “Do you have anything else you’d like to bring?”

“Like what?” Prompto asked with more energy than he meant to. “An umbrella? You have one. Possibly even two. You may even be hiding a tent in that bag, for all I know.” Prompto was smiling, and he felt like he couldn’t stop.

Ignis laughed, and wow was that ever a sound good to hear. His head felt clearer already, talking to someone who talked back. The barbed edged of his energy relaxed into something softer, feeling less like it was stabbing him in places.

“My bag contains secrets I fully intend to share with you,” Ignis said. “If fate permits it.”

“Ooh, mysterious.” Prompto grinned. Then it faltered a bit as he looked over to Eyeball.  “So,” he drew the word out, “we’re going to have another joining us today.”

Ignis raised an eyebrow, following Prompto’s eyes to the doll. “Ah, I see.”

“Sorry, it’s not that I don’t trust you. Ardyn—uh, Mr. Izunia, that is—my boss—he doesn’t want me going out alone.” Prompto fidgeted with his hands. “Really, it’s—this is all him.”

“Safety comes first,” Ignis assured him. “Even if this were your own request, I would not fault you for it. I’m honoured to have you coming at all.”

“Okay,” Prompto relaxed, “thanks. Um. So,” he gestured forward, “lead the way.”

Some irrational part of Prompto’s mind hoped Ignis would offer him his arm—which was stupid, so stupid, things went too badly last time for that. And really, he _should_ have been more worried about being alone with a sorta-stranger who can do magic. But...he wasn't worried. Though he was disappointed when Ignis didn't offer his arm. He just turned with a small smile and waited for Prompto to fall into step with him.

Prompto chastised his dumb mind, telling it to go have weird emotions elsewhere. He probably shouldn't have any in the first place, so he wished it would quit making things complicated.

And he’d been feeling so _much_ lately, what was up with that? He used to _kinda_ feel things, but they were more like vague ideas of what emotions were like—he wasn’t convinced they were actual feelings. But now, they were unavoidable. They felt _real._ And that wasn’t...he shouldn't feel anything.

“I wanted to thank you again, for giving me this chance today,” Ignis said, drawing Prompto out of his mental spiral before it could fully start.

“Eh? Oh, yeah,” he waved his hand, “no problem. I'm happy to be here.”

Ignis glanced down at Prompto as he walked, his eyes peering in a way that Prompto couldn't fully read. “Is that so? I'll admit, I wasn't sure how you'd...feel, today. Not after the shocking encounter last time.”

“Shocking, eh?” Prompto elbowed him, the energy prickling inside him making him feel more courageous—more touchy. “Was that a pun?”

Then Ignis looked surprised instead of amused, a vague confusion colouring his features, and—was Prompto acting weird? He wasn't sure. What reaction did Ignis expect? Was friendliness the wrong move?

Prompto shrunk back. “Sorry, I—uh, I react to things weirdly.” He put his hands in his pockets, glanced back at Eyeball’s impassive face. “I don't know how—normal people act. I'm sorry if that's making you uncomfortable.” He didn’t get the intricacies of human interaction. He didn’t get—humans. Feelings. Behaviour.

“No, that's not it. It's not strange—ah, well, perhaps a little.” Ignis almost put his hand on Prompto's shoulder, hesitated, then continued when Prompto didn't draw back. “I expected you to be more wary today. I thought I'd frightened you, last time.”

And the energy spiked again when Prompto looked at the hand on his shoulder, and dammit that was an distracting sensation. “You did,” Prompto answered honestly. “Scare me, that is.” He laid his hand over Ignis’ as it began to draw away, and smiled up at the tall human. “But I gave it some thought, and—yeah, it was a surprise, but it wasn't bad, y'know? Like, you didn't threaten me or anything. You protected me, if anything, and I can't be mad about that.”

“Perhaps not,” Ignis said slowly, “but I do imagine it'd be easy to be afraid, nevertheless.”

Prompto's smile faltered a little. Fuck, he knew he was acting weird. “Well, I mean—do you want me to be afraid? Should I be?”

“No, I—” Ignis shook his head. “I apologize. I shouldn't be taking your kindness and poisoning it with my own worries.” He twisted his hand to twine his fingers with Prompto's, pulling their hands to hang between them. “That's something you'll learn about me; I worry a lot.”

Prompto leaned towards him a little. “Well, it can’t be _all_ bad. That’s why you’re always so prepared, right?”

“Something along those lines, yes.” Ignis stepped forwards. “Let’s keep on our way, yes? It’s a bit of a walk, without a carriage.”

And then Prompto realised they'd stopped walking at some point, but he wasn't sure when. “Oh! Yeah, for sure.” They walked for a bit, and Prompto thought about how Ignis hadn’t taken his hand back yet, and how he wished he could feel the warmth from Ignis’ hands. “Do you own your own chocobo?” he asked.

Ignis said no, so Prompto asked if he’d ever wanted one, and what he’d name it, and if they’re as smart as they seem in fairytales. He asked a bunch of other things, too, about the strange masks the kids were wearing and if Ignis had ever played with the glass spheres, and Ignis answered every one of them in that semi-formal and informative way he does. Prompto asked so many things, he could almost forget about the doll shadowing his heels.

By the time they arrived at the Exalted Gardens, Prompto was feeling pretty good. He was thrumming from the inside out, yet he felt more solid than he had in days. Ignis was so easy to talk to, and so patient, and he knew a _lot._ They hadn’t even gotten to the actual educational part of this Learning Experience, and Prompto felt smarter than he did at the start of the day. His head felt so full with facts about chocobos (they grew to be as intelligent as five-year-olds, apparently), masks (the oldest ones could be traced back thousands of years), carriages (in Insomnia, they referred to Niflheim’s engined carriages as automobiles, and carriages could only be carriages if they were chocobo-powered), and even the glass spheres (they were called marbles), that Prompto wasn’t sure how much he’d absorb from the actual lesson.

He looked up at the gates; they were huge brass things with flowery reliefs, and gears peeking through artistically shaped openings. Huge stone walls sat on either side of them, and a metal sign arched above with the words _Exalted Gardens_ cut into it.

Looking in, the park was pretty busy, with small groups of families and children milling about and playing. And the air felt different as they got closer—like, he could feel it, for one thing. It was...heavy? Buzzing? He wasn’t sure. It was weird, though.

Prompto stepped towards the door, peering at one of the openings nearer to the bottom of the gate. “So is the clockwork decorative, or do these actually move?”

“They move,” Ignis said, peering over his shoulder. “They're powered by the natural abundance of magical energy in the area. There are sensors at the top,” he pointed at crystals acting as centerpieces to the doors, “which absorb the energy as it peaks during sunrise and sunset. Using that energy, they either open or close.”

He looked at the crystal, noting how it glowed vaguely. “Why sunrise and sunset?”

“That's simply when magic is stronger.” Ignis looked up at the crystals too. “I, and others, theorize that spirits prefer indirect light, since the next best time to attempt communing with them—besides sunrise and set—is during a full moon. But we don't have definitive proof yet.”

Prompto squinted up at the huge walls. “So like, what if you don't get out before the doors close? Are you just stuck until morning?”

“There are other entrances to the park, this is simply the official one.”

“That's good.” Prompto turned his squint to the openings. “The holes seem like something a kid could lose some fingers to. Or a hand.”

Ignis made a face. “I agree. I believe they're meant to show off the mechanics, but I don't believe this is the safest way to achieve that.”

Prompto's hand drifted to the opening in his chest, resting it on top of his jacket. “Yeah, they love showing off.” He tried to smile. “My limited experience tells me that inventors are this open when they're certain no one else can copy it, even if they can see it.”

“Is that so?” Ignis glanced at Eyeball. “Are the inventors of your automatons confident?”

Prompto snorted. “Oh, yeah. We had a few stolen, and he was more frustrated about making a replacement than worried about someone copying his design.”

“My,” Ignis raised a eyebrow, “that's impressive.” He pulled lightly on Prompto's wrist, ushering them through the gate. “Did you say ‘he’? Is there only the one inventor?”

“Yeah—Verstael Besithia. I mean, he used to work with his wife, and then his son, but…” They died, one after the other. “But—he’s always been the main guy behind it all.”

“They _used_ to work with him? Not anymore?”

“No,” Prompto tried to keep smiling, “no, they don’t.”

“That’s too bad,” Ignis murmured, “we could use more innovators in the world.”

Prompto shrugged, purposefully making a show of looking around. He pointed ahead at the trees, or more specifically the strange purple flower-vines growing around their trunks. “Are these magic?”

Ignis followed his pointing finger, and nodded. “Yes, somewhat. They’re taken care of by spirits, and so they’re more potent than other plants that one may use in potions or spells. In of themselves, however, there isn’t much that’s special about them, except their colour.”

“They’re pretty, though.”

Ignis smiled slightly. “Yes, they are.”

He lead Prompto down a path, further into the garden. They passed some performers, dancing and playing violin together. There was a small crowd around them, but as Ignis and Prompto went further in, the people lessened. The trees’ foliage grew thicker, and they quit looking quite as...normal as the trees at the entrance. If he looked closely, he could almost see a faint violet-blue glow emanating from the grooves of the trees—like they were glowing from the inside. They felt older, somehow, and their leaves were darker. The plants seemed thicker in general; the path became less clear as they continued, the brush and dispersed light concealing the cobbled bricks which they walked on. In fact, the cobbled bricks became looser and looser, more grass and plants growing between the bricks until they were barely a collection of stones on the ground.

Prompto suddenly realised he’d gotten really quiet, too busy looking at everything to talk. “Oh! Sorry for zoning out there.”

“That’s fine, I could see you absorbing it all. It's nice, to see appreciation for such beauty.” Ignis smiled slightly. “I felt similar, the first time I came here.”

“Yeah, I can imagine.” Prompto eyed the wayward cobbled bricks. “Do you...know how to get back?”

“I’ve been here many times, I know the paths like the back of my hand.”

Prompto laughed lightly, nudging Ignis’ knuckles with his own. “You mean ‘like the back of your glove’? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without them.”

“And I’ve never seen you without your jacket,” Ignis shot back, and Prompto nearly tripped on his feet. “Though the scarf is new.”

Prompto laughed again, more uncomfortably this time. “Uh, yeah, I switched with Eyeball today.”

Ignis looked at Prompto like he just declared himself emperor. “Eyeball?”

Prompto gestured back to the doll, who was hopping over a large root that Ignis and him had stepped over without thought—which, whoops, Prompto needed to make sure he didn’t lose his shadow. Ardyn would probably ground him for it, or worse, turn him off. “That’s Eyeball, I named it that because of its mismatched eyes.” He slowed down for the doll to catch up. “I, uh, name the more unique ones.”

“I see,” Ignis peered at the doll. He tentatively fixed the loose scarf on Eyeball's shoulders as the doll caught up. “Hm. I suppose you did just switch, didn't you?”

“Uhh, yeah.” Prompto shrugged. “Imma be honest with you, the dolls have more clothing than I do.” More passably normal clothing, anyway. There was actually several human-sized outfits that Prompto could fit into, since there used to be two stars of the show, but they were all...super flashy. He felt a little shy wearing them, frankly, and they by no means helped him go incognito.

“Is that so?” Ignis had a thoughtful look on his face. “Well, moving on, I'd say we're far enough in.”

“Oh?” Prompto glanced around, but this area didn't feel all that different from where they were a minute ago. “Okay.”

Ignis lead him off the path a little—or Prompto thought he did, it was hard to tell. They stopped beneath a tree whose branches reached down far, but was open in the middle, forming a little alcove.

“I enjoy reading here,” Ignis admitted, laying out a small blue blanket for them to sit on. “Discovered it when I was seventeen, and I haven't been bothered here since.”

Prompto sat against the tree, and looked up through the leaves. The light felt directionless here; it was an unusual sensation. He couldn't tell if the leaves were glowing, or if they were reflecting light from the trunk, or what. But it was nice.

Eyeball sat against his side. “Do spirits like forests because of the ambient light?” Prompto asked.

“Perhaps.” Ignis raised his eyebrows. “I’ve never considered that. I'd need to look into how many exist in deserts and plains, to compare.” Ignis turned his head slightly. “You're rather intelligent, you know that?”

Prompto snorted, he couldn't help it. “Uh, no, I'm not.”

“Observant, then.” Ignis began taking stuff out of his bag—was that a fucking tea kettle? “The two are more closely connected than you may think.”

“Mm.” Prompto wasn't convinced. “When you start explaining magic stuff and I don't understand any of it, you'll take that back.”

Ignis shook his head, minutely, just barely noticeable. “Few people understand the intricacies of magic. I am completely certain you will understand the basics, however, and that's all we're here for today.”

Ignis was putting his eggs in the wrong basket, but Prompto didn't feel like he'd change his mind easily. Oh well. Prompto figured he'd realise that there wasn’t much going on inside his blond head sooner or later.

Ignis took out a weird little square rock thing with an indent on its top. He put it in front of them and the tea kettle on top. He paused, reaching for his bag, and looked at Eyeball. “Do the automatons...drink? Would it—they—like some tea as well?”

“Um, well.” Prompto shifted so Eyeball could see the tea. “They _can_ eat, there's a little engine of sorts in there that burns it and turns it into energy, but it's not necessary.” Prompto elbowed it anyway. “Do you want tea? You don't have to.”

Prompto didn't expect anything, an explanation about how the dolls don't talk already forming on his lips, but Eyeball shook its head. Just a tiny bit, a mechanical shift back and forth, and then laid back against Prompto's side.

What. The fuck?

They can _answer_?

He thought of all the times he’d tried talking to them and got no response.

Prompto made a quiet, offended sound.

“That's too bad, but a perfectly respectable choice,” Ignis said to Eyeball, voice pitched like he was talking to a kid. “If you change your mind, there is plenty here.” He took some leaves from the ground, placing them inside the indent under the kettle. He looked at Prompto. “Now, the first matter to note. There are different types of magic, such as Intuition magic, which fundamentally only requires a will to cast.”

Prompto sat up straighter, ignoring Eyeball for now. He’d think about _that_ later.

Ignis snapped and his pointer finger flickered with a small flame. Prompto's hands unintentionally tensed. Ignis touched the flame to the leaves in the stone thing, catching them as well, and placed the kettle back on the indent. “However, not everyone can cast these spells by simply thinking them. Most spells of this sort work more easily with incantation words—such as their names—or a casting position.” He shifted his hand so the small flame sat on his palm. _“Ignis,”_ he said, and it burst into an explosion of blue.

Prompto jumped back, shoving Eyeball over in his haste, and mostly just succeeded in half falling over.

The fire shrunk, and Ignis gave him an apologetic look. “I will give you more warning next time.”

Prompto squeaked, “What the _fuck,_ we're under a tree dude!”

“I assure you, I would never let the flame lose control and catch the tree.”

Prompto stared at him doubtfully from his sprawl on the ground.

Ignis made the fire disappear fully. “I'm sorry, I know my own level of control over the spell, but you do not. I didn't mean to scare you.”

Prompto sat up properly, tugging Eyeball up too. “It's...okay. Just give a little warning next time.”

“I will explain my actions more clearly from here on out,” Ignis promised, pulling a jar of water out of his bag as well. He poured it into the kettle. “That was a simple fire summoning spell, which I am good enough at to not require using incantations. However, I wanted to display how using them makes spells more powerful, and therefore more likely to succeed when being casted by someone weaker in the art.”

“That’s...okay. Right.” First spell of the day. “So you’re good at Intuition magic?”

“Well—no, not particularly.” Ignis smiled slightly. “Only fire has ever come naturally to me. My specialties lie elsewhere.”

“What’re you good at, then?” Then Prompto thought of something. “Wait—did you say Ignis there? Your name is a spell word?”

“Yes.” Ignis took some tea leaves and sprinkled them in the cups. “It seems my parents were gifted with foresight, whether they realised it or not.”

Prompto made an intrigued sound. “So do you think you'd have been good at fire even if it wasn't your name, or do you think it made you better at it?”

“I am unsure, but I'm glad it's my name regardless.”

Prompto wondered at that—wondered if his own name had any magical meaning. Was that a common thing? Or was it more of a thing in Tenebrae?

But before he had the chance to ask, Ignis started explaining the other major types of magic—Alchemy, Divination, and Summoning—and the main differences between them. He let the tea heat as he explained, and Prompto listened closely.

Ignis explained in a way that sounded like he was reading aloud from a book—there was a very specific order to it. Prompto wondered if he talked like that all the time, or if it was because he was teaching, or if he really had pages from a book memorised. He wasn't sure. He liked listening to it, anyway.

Ignis finished his spiel just a few seconds before the kettle began screaming, and Prompto raised his eyebrows. Impressive timing. He wondered if Ignis drank tea a lot.

As Ignis began pouring, he said “Don’t drink the tea leaves at the bottom, we’ll be using those later.”

“Uh, okay.” Prompto tried to remember what they were talking about. “So like, what thing are you good at? You said it wasn’t Intuition?” Prompto thought maybe he knew Summoning, since the spirit appeared before, but Ignis said he didn’t do that, right? So…

Ignis handed Prompto his tea, who pretended to blow on it as if the heat would affect him. “Divination. I specialize in astromancy and tea reading, in particular.”

Prompto froze, cup still raised near his lips, a surge of something rushing through him. Something bad. “You…” He lowered the cup. “You see the future?”

How much did Ignis know? Did he see what Prompto was? Had he seen Prompto being repaired? Did he—did he bring Prompto out this far alone for a reason? To take Prompto away? If he did, why was he being so nice? Did he care about the whole not-human thing? Was this a date _because_ he found out? Was Ignis just—

“Yes, though it is not as clear as most people assume,” Ignis answered, and Prompto forced his eyes to look up at the mage as he spoke. “Divination is more of an art of reading signs—of prediction—than of actually seeing the future. We _can_ be gifted with true visions of the future, sometimes, but that is a rarity saved for only those favoured by certain Astrals.”

Prompto felt a little less like something was trying to claw its way out from inside him, but he still struggled to come up with an answer. The signs could still point to—his secrets.

Ignis, thankfully, seemed to take his silence as confusion. “The most powerful Divination Astral, Bahamut, claims to be able to fully see the future,” he explained. “He’s able to give chosen followers the ability as well. But the Draconian’s style of prophecy is much more like—like a man, who predicts that a dog will walk towards the sunset. Then the man takes the dog by the leash, and drags it towards the sunset.” He sipped at his tea, then frowned at it. “This is rather hot still, isn’t it? Would you like me to cool it for you?”

Prompto blinked. “Uh, sure.” He handed it to Ignis when he held his hand out. He explained that he was about to create ice using Intuition magic, and not to worry. Ignis frowned a little as he casted, said something that sounded kinda like the word blizzard, and his hands were covered by a thin layer of ice.

Prompto’s eyes widened.

Ignis continued explaining, carefully holding their teacups in each icy hand. “My manner of prophecy is much looser—I look at the situation, and look at the signs to assess what is most likely to happen. I would look at the same dog, and perhaps predict that it will travel towards some nearby sheep, as it appears to be a sheepdog. However, I may be wrong.” Ignis turned his head slightly. “But I would not— _could_ not drag the dog somewhere so that my prediction would be right. I lack the strength the Draconian has to do so—but even if I were strong enough, I find it in poor taste.”

Prompto’s eyebrows shot up without him meaning to. “Did you just insult an Astral?” Prompto took his cup back as Ignis offered it. “ _And_ the head honcho of Divination, too?”

Ignis’ tone was as cool as his hands. “I am simply stating the truth.” He sipped his tea.

A smile pulled at Prompto’s lips, but then he remembered why he’d been feeling nervous, and it faded. “So, uh...have you looked, recently?”

“Into the future? Yes, I have.” Ignis looked Prompto in the eyes. “I wanted to be sure there was no danger forthcoming for today. I had not been diligent last time, and I was concerned something may happen again today.”

“I...see. Uh, what did you see for this date?”

Ignis paused. “Date?”

“O-oh, or uh,” Prompto ducked his head, “whatever this is.”

There was a pause. “For this date,” Ignis said, his voice soft, and Prompto glanced up to see Ignis looking at him with gentle eyes, “I foresaw mostly unclear concepts. What stood out to me the most were the words ‘discovery’ and ‘storm’.”

Prompto felt tension rise in his chest—discovery? What's going to be discovered? He glanced at his gloves, checking that the joints there were still covered, and tried to discreetly adjust his scarf. “What, uh, what do you think those mean?”

“As big as those words may be,” Ignis assured him, “I assume they refer to you discovering more about magic, and to the fact it's going to rain.”

Prompto dropped his hands. “That's it?”

“Most likely.” Ignis adjusted his glasses. “Premonitions are not always grand revelations, and they're rarely specific. It requires a level of understanding about the situation, and an understanding of how those symbols connect to each other and the given situation.”

“That sounds complicated,” Prompto said, not getting it at all, but kind of wanting to move on. “Was there other stuff you wanted to show me?”

“Yes, thank you.” Ignis cleared his throat. “Ah, please forgive me if I make an error here. I'm not the best at Intuition magic.”

Prompto tapped the side of his teacup. “You're, uh, not gonna make fire happen, right? Or an explosion? Or...I don't know. Something that would hurt if you lost control.” Prompto made himself smile. “Asking for a friend.”

Ignis shook his head. “This is nothing dangerous. I'm simply going to make illusions—my failure here lies in being unable to maintain them, not in something potentially harmful.”

“Illusions?” Prompto raised his eyebrows. Then he gasped, slapping a hand against his cheek. “Can you make a _dragon?”_

Ignis made a face. “Ah, yes, I can certainly try.” He put his hands together, closing his eyes. Then he opened them, and said “Please drink your tea, I would like to do something with that later.”

“Oh, okay.”

Ignis nodded and closed his eyes again. Slowly, a flickering red light appeared between his fingers, dancing into shades of orange.

Prompto immediately wanted to touch it.

He sipped his tea instead.

The light shifted into the form of a dragon, curled into a sleepy ball. It looked to be made out of lines—like someone sketched a dragon on paper, but made it out of light and also three-dimensional.

Ignis opened his eyes, brows drawn together and lips crooked into a frown. “Well, there you go. A dragon.” He sounded like he was trying to be casual, but his voice was strained.

Prompto _really_ wanted to touch it.

“Holy shit.” The dragon uncurled, stretching out. It settled on Ignis's hand, using its claws to climb around his arm. “Holy _shit.”_

Ignis blushed. “It's really not that impressive.”

“Are you kidding me?” Prompto half shrieked. “Look at that! That's fucking amazing!” The dragon stuck its tongue out like a cat. “I'm gonna fucking die.”

Ignis laughed, turning his head away. “I'm nowhere near where I wish to be—you should see Noctis, he's really quite mystifying.”

“Noctis?” Prompto leaned closer to the dragon. “Oh! You mean Noct. He can do magic too?”

Ignis’ eyebrows drew together, and then arched up. “Oh my, I completely forgot you didn't know.”

“Really? My dude,” Prompto looked up at Ignis crookedly, “you know I know next to nothing about any of you, right? I don't even know your last name, or if you have one.” He figured Ignis had one. Educated people always had last names.

“I am Ignis Stupeo Scientia.” In the pause after Ignis said his name, Prompto mouthed the words. Was that two last names, or a middle name? Big name, either way. Double fancy. He figured that Ignis must have had a long line of educated family members. “Noctis is—” he faltered again, frowning.

Prompto felt a smile pulling at his lips. “What, did you forget his name?”

“No, I simply...am unsure of how you will react. How shall I put this?” Ignis frowned, and the dragon yawned. Prompto's eyes widened. “His full name is Noctis Ca—”

Prompto stuck his finger directly into the dragon's mouth.

Ignis sputtered and Prompto stared at the way the dragon's face ballooned around his finger, like its face was made of mud, but weirder. The lines making up its body shook and then dissipated.

“Prompto!” Ignis sounded affronted. “Why would you do that?”

Prompto shrugged, still staring at where the dragon had been. “Seemed pokeable.”

“Seemed—” Ignis blinked and dropped his hands slowly. “Noted. Do you have any other requests, perhaps simpler objects that I can make physical?”

Prompto sat up straight. “You can _do_ that?”

“I can try,” Ignis said flatly. “I'm not very good at it, however.”

“Make—make a cat!”

“Simpler, Prompto.”

“An egg!”

“That I can do,” Ignis said. “I quite enjoy cooking, so I’ve seen my fair share of eggs.” He clasped his hands together, there was a faint glow, and when he opened his hands again there was an egg. White, speckled, completely normal looking.

Prompto poked it. “That—looks completely real.” He plucked it out of Ignis’ hand. “You didn’t just pull this out of your sleeve, did you?”

“I did not.”

“Can I throw it?”

Ignis blinked. “What?”

“I don’t know, man, it just,” Prompto rolled the egg around his fingers, “it feels very throwable.”

“Right.” Ignis sounded vaguely dazed. “Go ahead.”

“Really?” Prompto looked at Ignis for confirmation, who shrugged.

“It’s not real. No harm, no foul. Frankly, I’m curious to see how it will behave.”

“Behave?”

Ignis gestured. “Go on, you’ll see.”

Prompto took one last look at the egg in his hand before turning and chucking it through the branches, aiming for the tree nearest to the one they were under. As it arched, the white faded to red a bit, and when it hit the tree, it almost seemed to spark. The insides jittered between red, and the normal white and yellow of an egg. After a moment, it dissipated, just like the dragon did.

Prompto stared at the tree. Without looking away, he reached his hand towards Ignis. “Gimme another one.”

It took a moment, but Ignis obliged. He threw that one at a tree, too. Then he broke a vase Ignis handed to him on the ground, and tore some nearly intangible flowers to pieces. He was working on pulling the stem into halves, struggling to grab the airy material, when Ignis spoke.

“It feels strange,” he said, watching Prompto, “when you hold my magic.”

Prompto paused, feeling the buzz in his fingertips. It was a clearer sensation than anything he’d felt before—he could feel the wind, slightly, but most other things felt numb in comparison. But this made even the strongest winds feel like a light breeze—he felt the flower in his hands more than he felt the gears moving his hands. “I think I know what you mean.”

Ignis shook his head slightly. “No, I mean...when others hold it, it feels…” He faltered, and in the silence Prompto noticed the light pattering sound of rain starting. “I don’t know how to explain the difference. It’s...Noctis has always had an easier time touching my magic, because he’s genetically gifted in Intuition magic. But his magic always interacted with mine strangely—and yours feels like…like that, but different.”

Prompto lowered the stem slowly. “I don’t know what you mean, I’m sorry.”

Ignis smiled slightly. “That’s fine. I don’t fully understand, either.” He peered at Prompto’s cup. “Did you finish your tea?”

“Uh, yeah.” He held the cup out, dark tea leaves coating the bottom. “I know you said not to drink the leaves, but I kinda chewed on some of them. Sorry.”

Ignis raised a eyebrow. “That’s...all right. I’m surprised their bitterness didn’t deter you.”

“They were fine,” Prompto said, trying to not wither under the curious stare Ignis gave him. He didn’t know what ‘bitterness’ was. “Anyway, what’re you doing with the leaves?”

“I’m going to attempt to see your future,” Ignis said casually, like he was mentioning a dog he saw today, and not casting that awful energy back into Prompto with a vicious sharpness. “But first.” He turned to the umbrella he’d leaned against the tunk. He opened it carefully, placing it against some branches in such a way that it covered both of them without being held. “Ta-da.”

Prompto tried to look relaxed as he handed Ignis his cup. “How many of those do you have?” he asked, looking at the umbrella. It was a bigger one than either of the two he had before.

“Enough,” Ignis answered. “Now, I’ll look for symbols in the leaves, and you will have to tell me a bit about your life so I can connect them to possible outcomes.”

“Mhm.” Prompto didn’t trust himself to say more.

After a few moments, the rain getting stronger, Ignis frowned. He turned the cup. Prompto looked at Eyeball as it sat forward and started pulling the grass out of the ground. “I...don’t understand.”

Prompto clenched his hands against his legs, not meeting Ignis’ eyes. What did he see?

“I’m...sorry, Prompto.” Ignis shifted next to him. “I don’t see anything.”

Slowly, Prompto looked at Ignis, who was flushing red. “Is that...a bad thing?”

“I don’t know, I—this doesn’t usually happen.”

“But...it _does_ happen?” Prompto hoped to the Astrals that there wasn’t a rule that people needed souls to have their futures seen, that Ignis could buy this as normal, that this wasn’t damning evidence against Prompto’s existence.

If people needed souls—needed to be alive—for their futures to be seen, then it was impossible for Ignis to see his future. He didn’t know whether to be relieved that his secrets were safe, or sad that he was so glaringly different.

“It does, it's rare. I don’t understand.” Ignis pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, I may have used too much magic earlier, with the illusions. I have not been on top of my game lately.”

Prompto forced a smile. “It’s fine. It happens.”

In the silence that followed, Ignis continued to frown at the cup—comparing it to whatever he saw in his own—and Prompto watched the rain. He suddenly felt overwhelmed, but didn’t know what to do about it. So he focused on the cool breeze, and the sound of raindrops hitting different things; leaves, tree bark, a nearby puddle, the umbrella.

After a bit, he felt Ignis looking at him. Prompto met his eyes. He couldn't read Ignis’ expression. “What?”

“May I ask you something?” he asked gently.

“Um, sure. Shoot.”

“Are you gifted in magic?”

Prompto would have laughed at the concept if he hadn’t felt so shitty. “Um, no?”  He didn’t fully know, but he was pretty sure you needed to be a human to make a pact with a spirit. Or have a soul, to have innate magic.

“I’m sorry, I just thought—your eyes.”

Prompto gave Ignis a bewildered look, even as the man peered almost intensely at Prompto's eyes. He leaned closer, and Prompto blinked. “What?”

“Your eyes,” he said quietly. “I thought before that it was simply the lighting, but—they glow.”

Fuck.

_Fuck._

Prompto stood up before he realised what he was doing. “I’m sorry, I—” The dolls’ eyes did that sometimes—humans’ didn't. “I don’t know.” He backed up. “I don’t know.”

Ignis looked at him in surprise. “Prompto, it’s alright. You’re not in danger. Physical signs of magic are embraced in Insomnia, not punished.”

Prompto stared, processing his words, the rain soaking through his clothing. “You—mages’ eyes glow?”

“Some of them. Noctis’ eyes do, at times.” His tone grew gentler. “Don’t worry, you’re in Insomnia. You’re safe here. You don’t need to keep your gift a secret.”

Prompto felt dizzy, which was an entirely new sensation. “I don’t have magic,” he murmured.

Ignis’ eyes softened. “You didn’t know?”

Prompto opened his mouth, shut it, looked at Eyeball. “No, I—I don’t think—” He twisted his hands. “I can’t have magic.” The doll's eyes were glowing, too.

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Ignis promised. “Please, sit back down.”

“I think I—I need to move. Sorry.” He felt twitchy and strange, like he was vibrating from the inside out. “Can we walk around a bit more?”

Ignis looked at him carefully. “We can. Please come under the umbrella for a bit, until I can clean all this up. I don't want you to catch a cold.”

Prompto took a moment, but he forced himself back under the tree. He watched Eyeball continue picking the grass, instead of Ignis putting the tea set away and folding up the blanket. Ignis took the umbrella, and rain started falling on Eyeball, who looked up at it, almost in bewilderment.

“Time to go,” Prompto said to it, still not looking at Ignis, even as the man came to stand next to him.

Eyeball looked at him, then at the tree, and—was it crying? That’s not—no way. It was just the rain. It could only be the rain.

He knocked his hand against his head, trying to clear his thoughts. They were getting out of control.

“Are you feeling well?” Ignis asked, putting a hand on Prompto’s arm.

“Yeah, I am. Just feeling like a few screws are loose, y’know?” Prompto gave a pained laugh, and then flinched. Okay, maybe that wasn’t...a safe joke to be making.

“Let’s get you somewhere warm,” Ignis suggested, carefully putting his arm over Prompto’s shoulders to guide him. “There’s a shelter down the path near the entrance. There’s usually a fire burning there.”

Prompto made an agreeing noise, though he wasn’t actually happy about being out of the cold. He liked the cold. He could feel it.

Prompto couldn’t take the silence as the trio walked. “Tell me more about the Astrals—about Bahamut.”

So Ignis did, filling the silence until they approached the entrance, and turned down a path to a simple wood shelter. It was just a roof with pillars holding it up, really, with a firepit in the middle and brass chairs pushed to the side. The dancers from earlier were using the emptied space to perform, still playing their violins as they danced around each other.

“Let’s sit down,” Ignis suggested, leading him closer to the fire which the performers were dancing circles around.

They sat down, pulling their chairs closer together, and watched the show for a bit. Eyeball stood to Prompto’s side, paying no attention at all, and Ignis put his bag on the floor.

The music was relaxing. Prompto thought it was interesting, the way one would play a part and the other would answer. One dressed in black, the other in white, exchanging happy and sad melodies. As Prompto calmed down, and his insides felt less like they were attacking him, the tune began to feel familiar somehow. Even their dance, and the men’s faces...there was something in their bone structure, their smiles, that he felt like he knew.

A woman who was scantily clad in dark clothing was walking around collecting coins from the people watching. She swept her silver hair out of her face, smiling at everyone who put something in the top hat.

“Do you have money?” Prompto asked as she paused to talk to some of the other people. She was gonna come to them next.

“I have some,” Ignis answered, already digging into his bag. “Do you want to give it to her, or shall I?”

“Yeah, sure, I'll do it.” As Ignis searched, Prompto saw her turn away from the people, and freeze at the sight of Eyeball—just for a moment. Then she started walking, staring down at the doll even as she stopped in front of them.

“Say, is that one of Besithia’s dolls?” she asked, hand on her hip. “One of you work for that Izunia guy?” She looked directly at Prompto.

“Oh! Uh, yeah.” He smiled. “You’ve seen the show?”

“About a decade ago,” she confirmed. “Though I’ve been hearing word of it more in the last few years.” She threw her thumb over her shoulder at the performers. “We’re a bit of a travelling act ourselves, you see, so we gotta keep an eye out for the competition.” She winked.

“I...see.” Prompto suddenly felt much more wary about this conversation. “We're all friends here, right?”

“Absolutely.” She reached her hand out for a handshake. “Aranea Highwind, happy to officially make your acquaintance.”

At his hesitance, Ignis took her hand instead. “Ignis Stupeo Scientia, and this is Prompto.” He opened his coin purse, offering it to Prompto. “You can give her what you like.”

He took a silver piece, unsure of how much she'd normally get, hoping that was enough. Ignis began putting his coin purse away. She stepped closer, holding the hat out only slightly, so Prompto had to lean to put the coin in.

When his hand reached out, she snatched his wrist and pulled his sleeve back in one quick movement. He tried to pull away, but her grip held, and he only managed to pull his glove off slightly when her hand shifted.

He stood with a slight stumble and shoved her back, and she let go.

He clasped his hand to his chest, frantically re-covering his exposed arm—his arm, with its ball joints and brass plating peeking through the cracks. He looked at Ignis—slightly behind him now, because of his stumble—whose hand was halfway in his bag. He was watching Aranea with drawn-together eyebrows.

Prompto wanted to run, but he didn’t know if there was a point. Ignis already knew. He deserved an explanation.

“I-Ignis, I—” Prompto started.

Ignis stepped in front of Prompto slightly, standing to his full height. “I don’t know what you were trying to do, but I suggest that you stand back.”

Aranea looked Prompto up and down, slowly, before turning her eyes to Ignis with a lopsided grin. “We’re all friends here. No need to get your panties in a knot.”

“We’re going now.” Ignis picked up his bag, guiding Prompto away with his hand. “Have a fine evening.”

“Thanks for the money,” she said. Then called, as they left the shelter, “Take care, Prompto.”

Ignis used the umbrella like a wall between her and them.

“Ignis…” Prompto whispered.

“What was that about?” Ignis was still frowning. “What happened?”

Prompto froze in his tracks. Ignis paused and looked back at him. “You—you didn’t see?” Prompto’s voice wavered.

Ignis shook his head. “I saw you push her, but I did not see why.”

“You didn’t see my—” Prompto wrung his hands. Okay. He didn’t see. _He didn’t see._ Don’t say something stupid now. “Sh-she uh, grabbed my hand. She didn’t let go, at first.”

“Why did she do that?”

“I—don’t know.”

Ignis looked at him, then past him at the shelter. “Perhaps she thought you were trying to steal.”

“Yeah...maybe.” Prompto didn’t sound convincing in the least.

Ignis sighed with a shake of his head. He pondered silently, looking back at the woman, then smiled at Prompto sadly. He pulled Prompto lightly along as he began walking again. “We’re two for two, in terms of unfortunate interruptions, aren’t we?

Prompto tried to smile. “Yeah, we are.”

“Perhaps we should go somewhere more private, next time. We could go to my lodgings, and I could show you more magic that I'm specialised in.” He smiled. “I'll show you the place where the magic happens, literally.”

Prompto snorted, he couldn’t help it. “Maybe. I’m not sure I’m allowed to…” He looked down out Eyeball, remembering that Ardyn said he could leave, as long as he took a doll. “Actually—maybe I can. I wanna try.” Spending more time with Ignis meant it was more likely that he’d learn his secret—and just now was such a close fucking call, too—but Prompto wanted to try. “Is that really much of a date location, though? It's just your house.”

“First we'll go somewhere with good food, then. Or a library, which will certainly be less busy than the parks, and where we will hopefully be left alone.” Prompto realised that he was beginning to recognise the look on Ignis' face when he was making plans; there was a slight quirk to his lips, and a distant look to his eyes. “The library, and you can visit my home afterwards. Eat my cooking instead of a restaurant’s...”

Prompto tried not to make a face. “What's with you and trying to get food into me?”

Ignis focused back on him, raising an eyebrow. “Do you dislike food?”

“Uh,” Prompto glanced at the brass gates as they approached them, “it's more of a general indifference.”

“I can change that.” Determination coloured Ignis’ eyes. “I will find what types of food you like, and make it in such a way that you'll wonder how you ever claimed indifference to cuisine.”

Prompto rolled his eyes. “So you're saying you'll make me eat my words?”

Ignis’ eyes, which were already alight with a passion for cooking, turned brighter. “That is precisely what I'm saying.”

When Prompto smiled this time, it came more easily. “Okay. I'll go to your house for food, and you'll make something I'll try to enjoy—”

“You won't have to try,” Ignis guaranteed.

Prompto rolled his eyes. “And we'll have a genuinely peaceful evening. Hey, I'll even give you a hint right now,” he elbowed Ignis, “spicier is better.”

“Spicy, hm?” His eyes sparkled. “I can do spicy.”

“ _Super_ spicy.” Prompto kept smiling, even as they walked down the street, slowly making their way back to the theatre. He saw a couple walking by holding hands, and a desire rose up in him. He blurted “Can I hold your hand?” before he could think better of it.

Ignis looked at him in slight surprise, but smiled. “You don’t need to ask.”

“And just...grab your hand out of nowhere?” Prompto made a face. “What if you move and I miss? That would be so embarrassing.”

Ignis laughed, and offered his hand. “That would be both of our faults, then. Hand-holding is a team effort.”

Prompto took it with a hum. “Well then, it's a good thing I’m good at teamwork. I’ll hold your hand so good.”

Ignis laughed again, and slowly Prompto felt better. Even going to the theatre didn’t seem _too_ bad—he had a date to look forward to, and lots to think about until then. And things were going well between him and Ignis—or he thought so, anyway. Like, it could have been better, probably, but it also could have been worse. Ignis could have seen, and all this would be over.

It was only a matter of time, really.

Prompto was going to enjoy it for as long as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompto: can i throw the egg  
> Ignis: sure, no harm no foul  
> ME, STRUGGLING: DON'T MAKE A FOWL PUN _DON'T MAKE A FOWL PUN **DON'T MAKE A FOWL P**_  
>  I succeeded, but barely
> 
> A new fighter joins the fray! I'm very excited to have Aranea in this :)c for reasons :))c But honestly I'm just excited, like, in general. Almost as excited as Prompto is clueless.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always welcome, if you wanna send me an ask or something I'm themusecalliope on tumblr!!


	7. Kicking, Screaming, Sinking Slowly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I'm formally apologizing for not posting for such a long time. Turns out having free time did the opposite of give me motiviation?? I need the structure of a daily train ride to write, apparently. Holidays are a curse. Habits are life.
> 
> But that being said, I'm like 1k into the next chapter, so?? Hopefully the next one won't be too long. But no promises cause classes are terrifying this semester and I'm suffering
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy!

“Do you think we _all_ offended him somehow?” Nyx asked, and Libertus stopped sweeping to drag a hand over his face. They were cleaning up the main theatre hall after the second to last show of the day and, if Nyx was being honest, it was a lot more boring without Prompto there to help.

“Impossible,” Crowe said from her place on the stage, where she was mopping dirt that wasn't there. “We're the nicest fucking people.”

“I don't know,” Libertus grumbled, “but I _do_ know you need to stop worrying over it. You're obsessing.” He pointed at Nyx's broom. “You've been sweeping the same corner for the last five minutes.”

Embarrassment rose up in Nyx, but he smirked like it wasn't there. “It was a very dirty corner.”

“It's no worse than anywhere else.”

“That's because I cleaned it.” Nyx began pushing what dirt he’d collected towards the center pile. “But like, I'm just saying, Prompto got real distant real fast.”

Libertus sighed, shaking his head. “Who knows what he's thinking. Maybe he just got sick of talking to the same three people every day. I know I am.”

Nyx grinned him, sweeping the dirt pile into the dustpan. “What's the matter, buddy? Is the love just not there anymore? Are we gonna have to break up?”

Crowe yelled from the stage. “What about the children?”

Libertus levelled Nyx with a tired stare. “You two are a curse on my existence.”

“But the children!” Crowe exclaimed.

“The children can go fuck themselves.”

“Oh no!” Nyx laughed. “What will little Davey do with only me for a father?”

“Davey can fuck himself, in particular.” Libertus pointed sharply at Nyx when he opened his mouth to respond. “Sweep.” He pointed at the ground. “Now.”

Nyx shrugged, getting back to work. “We have eight imaginary kids, I'm not sure how lowly mage-apprentices like Crowe and I can support their education without you.”

“What, ya don't have enough money to put imaginary food on the table?” Libertus paused in the middle of grabbing the second mop from where it leaned against the wall. “Wait, since when was there eight? What happened to number nine?”

“She died of dysentery,” Crowe said.

“It was truly tragic,” Nyx added.

“We spent too much time cleaning the theatre to keep our house clean and safe.” Crowe picked up the wash bucket and hopped off the stage, moseying over to them.

“An ironic tragedy,” Nyx said.

Libertus took the bucket from her with a frown. “Was it Lily?”

“It was Lily,” Nyx and Crowe said simultaneously.

“Damn,” Libertus muttered. “I liked Lily.”

Crowe grinned mischievously and Nyx laughed. He was going to add details to her demise—a whole list of information Crowe and he had devised together—but then he saw Crowe squinting past his shoulders, and he shut his mouth. He turned with tense shoulders to look for any dolls that might be spying on them—instead, he saw Ardyn watching from the backstage doorway.

Having been seen, the man entered with a flourish of his shitty coat. “Hello, my dears.”

Nyx wondered what magic he was gifted in, to have maroon hair like that. The magic of being an asshat, probably. “Is there a problem?” he asked flatly. He knew he sounded disinterested, but he was at least trying to cover up his irritation—for professionality's sake.

Libertus didn't bother. “A what do _you_ want?” he asked, looking at Ardyn like he was dragging a dead cat around.

“Have you seen Prompto?” the man asked, peering around the room with a small smile, as if the automaton was hiding behind a broom or something. “He's been disappearing quite a bit lately, and I'm concerned he's going to be late to the show one of these times.” He zoned in on Nyx, smiling sweetly. “Or that he won't come home at all.”

“He just stepped out not too long ago,” Crowe started, but Ardyn interrupted.

“I wasn't asking you.”

Nyx glared at the man, knowing Ardyn was singling him out for a reason. “I haven't seen him,” he answered shortly. “That's the honest truth. Frankly, I should be asking _you_ what's gotten into him.”

“Oh?” Ardyn looked perplexed, all wide-eyed and innocent.

“What the fuck did you say to him?” He leaned against his broom, ignoring the goosebumps that were threatening to rise on his arms. This guy had always rubbed him the wrong way. Nyx used to think he imagined the strangeness in Ardyn's smiles and words, assuming that he saw them just cause he felt paranoid around the man (and the soulless dolls in general). But the red flags never stopped flying, not even after Nyx worked with him more. “Or did we do something to him? Why is he avoiding us so much?”

Ardyn feigned surprise; it could have been passable, but Nyx didn't trust him—so he caught the slight twinkle in Ardyn's eyes, the way they crinkled ever so slightly in glee.

“Do you think he's upset with you?” Ardyn asked, sounding sympathetic. “You needn’t worry about that. He may imitate emotion, but it isn't real.”

Libertus snorted, and Crowe rolled her eyes. Nyx resisted breaking his broom over the man's head.

Ardyn blinked. “Did I say something funny?”

“Sorry, buddy, you're a bit late with that.” Libertus shook his head. “You could have fooled me with that shit a few years ago. Hell, last year even. But that kid—he's got emotions. I've seen it.”

Ardyn looked at him like he was the sweetest, most naive thing in the world. It wasn't a look anyone should direct towards Libertus, and it made both him and Nyx frown. “He’s programmed to _imitate_ human emotion” Ardyn said. “If you were only convinced of his emotions this year, then it means he's improved in his act, and was subpar previously.”

“He teared up at the sight of a puppy,” Libertus said flatly.

“He gets shy if you poke fun at him,” Crowe added.

“He laughs.” Nyx levelled Ardyn with a serious stare. “Genuine, hearty laughter. And nervous giggles. He makes _jokes.”_

Ardyn shook his head. “All things he's gotten better at, over time. Did he laugh in the first year you knew him?”

There was a tense pause. “No,” Crowe said slowly. “But we didn't really talk to him then.”

“And he didn't talk much, either.” Ardyn explained, “He didn't understand how conversations work—”

“Why do you call him a ‘he’ then?” Libertus interrupted.

“Yeah!” Nyx pointed empathetically at Libertus. “If Prom's _just_ an automaton, why not call him an it?”

“It's simply easier. Most look at him and think ‘man’, so calling him an it can be confusing. I could call her a she, if I so pleased.” Ardyn shrugged. “The doll doesn't care.”

Anger flared up in Nyx. “And have you ever _asked_ him what he prefers?”

“Have you?” Ardyn shot easily back.

“I—” He clenched his fists. “I never considered it until now—”

“Odd. Doesn't one among you identify as a gender different from the one at your birth?” Ardyn asked, and Crowe froze. “Surely, if any group were to think to ask, it's you.”

Libertus stepped forwards. “Why you—”

 _“Libertus.”_ Crowe grabbed his arm. They shared a look, and Libertus stood down, but they both glared at the tall man before them.

Ardyn looked between the three of them, assessing their anger. He spoke slowly, dancing on a line between kind and mocking. “The closest the dolls can feel to real emotion lies in their ability to detect threats, and avoid them. There is nothing beyond that.”

“So you gave robots anxiety,” Crowe said flatly.

“No.” He paused. “Perhaps. Not in the same sense as humans, however.” He steepled his fingers. “Please inform me if you see him—I need to check that his programming hasn't gone haywire. If he's unreasonably perceiving danger at the theatre, and that's why he's gone so much, then I must fix it.” He smiled, but their glares didn't lessen. “We don't want him being broken out there, do we? He doesn't understand how the world works. Surely that's something we can agree on, yes?”

Nyx could tell from their tense silence that none of them wanted to agree with him; it felt too much like admitting defeat. “We'll keep an eye out for him,” Crowe said dismissively, turning and picking up the bucket. “I'm getting water.”

Nyx and Libertus took the cue to get back to work, turning from Ardyn. The man took the hint for once, probably having reached his quota for general shittiness already, and swiftly exited the hall without so much as a thanks or a goodbye.

“Fucker,” Libertus grumbled. Nyx gave a pained grunt in agreement. “Where does he get off, accusing us of not respecting pronouns, I swear to Ramuh he fuckin’ just...” Libertus trailed off, heatedly muttering to himself.

Nyx glared down at where his hands clenched around the broom. He wanted to—do something. He didn't know what. The weird fucker set off so many red flags, it was like his hair got its colour from the flags’ dye rubbing off on him. And yet Nyx never caught him doing anything illegal, and there wasn't even anything explicitly immoral Nyx had seen—just general creepiness. So there was nothing real he could report; you couldn't send someone for jail for being weird. Not in Insomnia, anyway.

He tried to look at the bright side. “He'll only be here for a few more weeks, at least.”

“Sure, but Prompto will still be stuck with him.”

Nyx sighed like a hole was poked in his lungs. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, you’re right.”

The silence that followed was interrupted when Crowe slammed open the door. “Guess who I just saw.”

Nyx and Libertus slowly glanced at each other. “Uh…” Libertus started. “Prompto?”

“Nope!”

“Is Luche back in town?” Nyx tried.

“Completely wrong!” She waltzed into the room, throwing the newly-filled bucket down. “Your secret admirer.”

Nyx frowned (Libertus did too, but that was probably more because of the water that spilled). “Who?”

“That silver-haired lady. The one you quite literally ran into two days ago.” She crossed her arms. “Saw her across the street. Actin’ all casual like, and sticking out like a blond in the Lucian city council.”

Nyx saw the distraction for what it was: an offering to distill the tension. He smiled slightly. “And why have you decided she's my secret admirer?”

“Because she sure as hell ain't here for Libby—” Crowe ignored the unamused look Libertus shot her, “—and I know better than to get my hopes up. It jinxes it.”

Nyx snorted. “Let’s hope you’re wrong. I don’t need to turn down another person for gay reasons this month. I’ve reached my quota.”

“Motherfuckers, the both of you. You have all these perfectly fine people interested in you, and you don’t even give them a chance.” Libertus shook his head. “Shameful.”

“Not everyone can be bi, Lib.” Nyx elbowed him good-naturedly. “You're just mad because you have twice the chances, and yet you’re still single.”

Libertus put an arm over Nyx’s shoulder, leaning heavily on him. “I would have better luck, but I have two leeches in my side that drive people away.”

“Oh no,” Crowe said impassively. “How long have you had them?”

“That’s unfortunate, buddy,” Nyx said. “You should get that checked out.”

“Alright, funnyguys, get back to work.” Libertus drew his arm off Nyx and shoved him with it. “Let’s finish early today, it’s not like we have much to do.”

“Aye aye,” Crowe said with a salute.

Nyx went back to sweeping, feeling mostly better. Crowe's conversational foray had helped him calm down, even if his anger wasn't completely gone. But it was better.

Then Nyx saw movement in his peripheral, and it was almost surprising how much his frustration flared up. He glared at the doorway, ready to yell some dolls away.

He met eyes with Prompto instead, a moment before the automaton ducked his head and continued scurrying down the hall.

Nyx foze, hands clenched around the broom handle. He didn't get to say sorry, to explain that the look wasn't meant for Prompto. He didn’t get to offer a smile. He didn't get to do anything.

He couldn’t do anything.

“Flighty little guy, huh?” Crowe murmured.

Nyx shrugged and mechanically continued sweeping. He didn’t notice the glance shared between his friends, or the way the were looking at him. He didn’t notice Crowe walking up to him until she grabbed his broom.

He blinked at her, and she offered a slight smile. “C’mon, go talk to him.”

“Take a fifteen minute break. Get your head cleared up.” Libertus paused, then added “Besides, you’re kinda slowing us down at this point.”

Nyx looked between them. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah man, it's whatever.”

Crowe shrugged. “Just don't make this a habit.”

Nyx smiled slightly, handing off his broom to Crowe. “Thanks, guys. Be back soon.”

He followed the hall down the direction Prompto went. Nyx assumed he was going to the changeroom, but he wasn’t completely sure.

He paused outside the door, wanting to knock instead of just entering, but he only got as far as lifting his fist before he stopped. He heard voices. He laid his palm on the door, leaning in to listen.

“—musn’t be lying to me,” Ardyn said, his voice low.

“I’m not lying!”

“Prompto, I _saw_ you with him,” Ardyn snapped. “A few days ago. Are you telling me I’m seeing things?”

A resounding silence fell, one Nyx could feel through the door. He wondered who this ‘him’ was.

Prompto said something that Nyx couldn’t hear.

“Speak up.”

Nyx still had to strain to hear. “He’s nobody,” Prompto warbled.

“Is that so?” Ardyn sounded unimpressed. “Is that why you’re lying about him?”

“I—I just—” Prompto faltered. He said something else Nyx couldn’t hear.

“And you think not knowing his name makes it better? You think that spending time with strangers is safe?”

“He doesn’t know what I am!” Prompto cried, and Nyx could clearly imagine the flinch that followed the outburst. The kid did that a lot, when he spoke louder than he meant to. “And I’ll—I’ll never see him again.”

“Oh?”

“Y-yeah, we—I just met him at the park. The chances of running into him again are—”

“Larger, given how much time you have been spending at parks as of late. Darling,” Nyx heard some movement inside before Ardyn continued, “when we made our deal, I had not intended for you to spend _all_ your time out.”

“I’m sorry.” There was a few moments of quiet. Nyx frowned.

Ardyn’s voice was gentle. “Prompto, if I ever see you with that man again, you’re grounded.”

This time, Prompto sounded panicked. “What? Ardyn, please, it really wasn’t anything. Ig—the man, he won’t hurt me. He was nice. You don’t need to—grounding isn’t necessary—”

“You’re right, it’s not necessary, seeing as he’s a stranger you’ll never see again, correct? I’m simply stating it as a precaution.”

Nyx didn't like the tone Ardyn was taking. He didn’t like that Ardyn knew Prompto went to parks, but still questioned him and his friends. He didn't like not knowing what they were talking about. He didn't like a lot about this.

Ardyn sighed dramatically. “Don’t look like that, you’re making me feel like the villain here. I’m simply concerned for your wellbeing—is that so wrong?”

“No, Ardyn,” Prompto said quietly.

“Really,” Ardyn sounded tired, “I'm trying here. But it's like you have no sense for your safety at all.” Silence. “I’m giving you two days house arrest. No complaints.”

“What?” Prompto cried. “But—”

“I _just_ said no complaints.” Nyx heard him walk further into the room, and the squeak of a chair moving. “I need to consider how to renegotiate our agreement, and I need to see that you can be trusted. Consider these next two days to be a test.”

Nyx heard a few steps, and pulled back just in time for Prompto to open the door and nearly run into him.

The automaton looked upset—then surprised, as his eyes met Nyx's. Then they darkened with anger. He slammed the door and barreled past Nyx.

“Hey!” Nyx rushed after him. “Are you okay? What was that about?”

“Nothing,” Prompto snapped. “Leave me alone.”

Nyx’s frown deepened. “Look, I wanted to talk to you.”

“Not right now.”

They entered the back storage area.

“Why not? What’s gotten—”

“I have costumes to fix.” Prompto veered towards the bulking automobile of Izunia Productions. “I’m busy.”

That was a lie. The next show was starting soon, so Prompto would need to get into costume. His stuff was in the changerooms, not the automobile.

Nyx grabbed his arm, forcefully twisting Prompto around to face him. “What’s gotten _into_ you?”

Prompto shoved him away. “Leave me _alone._ I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Why not?” Nyx stood his ground. “You used to love talking to us. What changed?”

“N-nothing, I just—!”

“Did we do something?”

“No—”

“Did Ardyn say something?”

Prompto flinched. “No, he—”

“Whatever it was, it was a lie. Me and the others—we poke fun, but we like you. We’d never say something bad about you—”

“I just don’t like you!” Prompto shouted, and his words surprised Nyx’s tirade into a stumbling stop. “I—I have no use for you anymore.” Prompto squeezed his eyes shut. “I’ve learned everything I need to from you.”

A cold crawled over Nyx. “What do you mean?” he asked lowly.

“I have no use for you. I—I appreciate what you’ve shown me about how human friends interact, but I have learned all I can from you.” His hands were clenched. “Please leave me alone, now. Talking to you anymore would be a waste of time.”

“Did he tell you to say that?” Nyx’s voice shook with emotion. “I swear, I’ll fucking—”

“No.” Prompto opened his eyes, meeting Nyx’s with watery determination. “I’m just saying the truth. I don’t have emotions. I’m just an automaton.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

“Good day, Mr. Ulric,” Prompto said, turning away.

Nyx watched him climb into the back of the automobile. “Prompto,” he called.

Prompto paused, not turning to look at him. But it was something, at least.

“When you need somewhere to go, you can come to us for help, okay? We’re still friends, even if there’s something going on between us right now.”

“We’re not friends.” Prompto hunched his shoulders. “We never _were_ friends. I can’t...”

“Yeah, yeah. Well, don’t be afraid to come to me. I don’t turn anyone away.”

Prompto continued into the carriage. Nyx stayed for a moment, waiting for—something, he wasn’t sure what. But then the dolls began crawling out of their corners, and he became aware of the feeling of their dark eyes watching him, so he turned back out into the hall.

He paused when he was out there, cursing Ardyn and whatever the fuck it was he did. Leaning his arm against the wall, he rested his head against it. “Hey, Ramuh,” he muttered, “could you do me a favour and send the storm on Ardyn’s ass, specifically? A little lightning could do him good.”

“Didn’t go well?”

Nyx lifted his head to glare at Ardyn, who was peeking his head out of the changerooms. “No, and I fucking wonder why that is?”

“Truly, it is a mystery,” Ardyn drawled. Then, as Nyx faced him directly, he said “My, you look angry.”

“You _fucker,_ I don’t know what you said to him—”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.” Nyx stood tall. “You have no right to do whatever you’ve done to him.”

“You’re so convinced I’ve done something, and yet I see no proof.” Ardyn leaned against the doorframe. “Really, if he has as much free will as you think he does, what do you think I’ve done? How have I made him stay away from you, without changing his programming?”

“Just because humans have technical free will, doesn’t mean we can’t be manipulated.”

Ardyn shrugged. “Don’t you have work to do?” He stepped back and closed the door before Nyx could respond.

He glared helplessly at where the man’s head had been before briskly returning to the entrance hall.

Libertus and Crowe were done cleaning up, if the fact they were shuffling into the ticket booth was any indication. The theatre would be opening for the next show soon, and the actual play would be starting not too long after that. Nyx wished he had a bucket to kick over—he would probably feel better after—but it looked like they’d already put the cleaning supplies away.

Libertus spotted Nyx’s expression. “Damn, it went that badly huh?” Nyx strode past the booth. “Whoa, where you going?”

“For a walk. Don’t wait up.”

“Oi!” Libertus shouted after him. “Be back before the next show ends! We’re not covering for you.”

Nyx waved to indicate that he heard, and pushed open the front doors. A crowd greeted him, but he pushed past them too.

He wasn't sure where he was going, but he didn't think it mattered. He just needed to move. He walked where his legs wanted to go, slowly burning through his frustrations. The rain started part way through his walk. He kept walking.

Eventually, he stopped to let the rain wash over him. He pretended that he was back home in Galahd, and that these were the rains of Ramuh, here to wash away his anger.

He didn’t start on his way back to the theatre until the rain stopped. He was no closer to figuring out what to do.

He didn't like this situation at all.

 

* * *

 

He spotted the silver-haired woman about a block away from the theatre. She was leaning against the wall, watching from an alley, all casual-like. She was out of place in her stillness.

Nyx always listened to his gut; it was why he was so good at Intuition magic. Right now, his gut was screaming at him.

He stepped behind a group of people, joining the loitering masses, to watch her. He tried to be discreet, turning his head as little as possible to look. But he didn't need to be so careful. She was too busy watching the theatre to notice any eyes on her.

Nyx didn't like this stranger hanging around like that. He liked it even less when he saw Prompto step around the side of the building, a doll in tow. As Prompto walked down the street, Nyx approached the woman, because he sure as hell wasn't going to let her talk to Prompto or—whatever it was she was doing.

“Ma'am,” he said, standing tall and authoritative, like his experience in the Glaives taught him to be, “there's no loitering in this premises.”

She didn't look at him at first, but when she did, she looked unimpressed. “Oh?”

“Please leave immediately.”

“Uh-huh.” She crossed her arms. “Don't you work at the theatre?”

“I’m also a member of the Glaive—”

“The Glaive. The magic protectors of the city?” She shook her head. “You may have jurisdiction over wizardly crimes and fucking dragon attacks or whatever, but shit like this ain't your business.”

Nyx eyed over her shoulder, where Prompto was turning down another street—a man was walking next to him, one Nyx couldn't quite make out. That was—new. And a problem for another day, hopefully. Maybe that was the man Ardyn mentioned? Whatever. Prompto would be out of view soon, and that mattered to Nyx the most. “As a member of this community, it _is_ my business. I know the folks who run this shop, and I know they wouldn't like you hovering around like this.”

“Whatever, man. I'm not doing anything wrong.” She looked over her shoulder with a frown. “I'm waiting for someone.”

“Alright.” Prompto was out of view. “I hope they arrive soon.” Nyx walked past her, wanting to get away from the conversation quickly now that Prompto was (hopefully) safely away.

He didn't look back at her until he reached the front doors, and saw her talking to two men. He felt doubt, just for a second; maybe she was actually just waiting? But no. No, something wasn't right here. He just didn't know what.

Libertus yelled at him when he came back in, saying that he was 5 minutes away from having his friendship card revoked. He helped with the last cleanup of their day and went home to get what rest he could.

Because his day wasn't done yet. No, not even close.

It was time for him to go to his actual job.

Working at the Citadel as a Glaive wasn't so bad. His shifts paid for his classes in Intuition magic, and he made some extra money on top of it. Not a lot extra, but enough. And he didn't mind the night shifts—he preferred them, even. He liked walking the streets at an hour when no one else was awake, and sleeping in ‘til noon. Plus his magic always worked better when the moon was visible. It was a pretty good arrangement, overall.

But tonight? Tonight, he spent the entire hour between his theatre shift and his Glaive shift staring at the wall and wondering if he could skip. Apologize about it tomorrow, say he thought he caught something.

He’d entertained the thought for as long as he could ignore the fact that he needed the job, and couldn't afford to lose it. He also pretended that lying wasn't so hard for him.

The fantasy didn't last long.

Bearing the hopeful brand of gall that he was infamous for, Nyx walked up to the Citadel gates expecting a normal night. He expected to spend it making sigils for the upcoming festival, helping those in the medical ward heal, keeping watch, et cetera. The fact everything had been strange lately was just a series of unfortunate coincidences. In fact, it was probably just that the stress of the festival was getting to him; everything was fine, actually. Perfectly fine. Nothing strange would happen.

Those thoughts lasted exactly until he took two steps through the front doors.

At the first step, Mage Noctis Caelum, who was walking who-knows-where with his Shield, froze. At Nyx's second step, he grabbed his friend's beefy arm and said “That's one of them.” Nyx ground to a stop in the middle of his third.

They peered at each other—Mage Noctis looked almost curious, which just confused Nyx more. “Sir?”

The young man nodded to himself. “Yeah, that's him. I'm certain of it.”

Mage Gladiolus hummed, stepping towards Nyx. “Glaive, what is your name?”

This felt like a trick somehow. Like Nyx was about to be fired if he said his name. But he didn't see another choice—and it wasn't like he could think if a fake name in time—so he answered. “Nyx Ulric, sir.”

“Nyx Ulric. You work at the theatre in the refugee district, correct?”

What the fuck? Why did they know that? “Yes, sir.”

“Do you know Prompto?”

What the _fuck._

He looked between their faces, trying to understand the underlying question. The Shield looked guarded, not giving anything away, and the Household heir looked expectant. “Did he do something wrong?” Nyx asked.

“So that's a yes?” the Shield asked.

He didn't want to confirm that. He didn't want to accidentally rat Prompto out—which he almost certainly would, since he didn't know what on Eos the shy automaton could have possibly done. And even if Nyx could lie, he wouldn't know what things to lie about. He was double fucked.

“Yes,” he said falteringly. “He's a good person, though. If you think he did anything—”

“We aren't accusing him of anything,” Mage Noctis spoke up. “We just have a few questions.”

“I'm on shift,” Nyx tried.

“Don't worry, this will be on Citadel hours,” Mage Gladiolus said. “You'll be paid for your time.”

At a loss, Nyx tried to buy some time to think. “I need to sign in and relieve Glaive Furia of his shift.” Technically true, even if Tredd would leave without Nyx relieving him, and had repeatedly gotten them both into trouble by doing so. But maybe they'd run into something along the way, something urgent that Nyx needed to help with. Something that would pull Nyx away from whatever this was going to be.

“Lead the way,” the Shield said, turning aside to let Nyx past.

And Nyx knew, with growing trepidation, only one thing for certain.

He shouldn't have come in today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for dropping by, as always! See you next time. Next chapter will be....well. :)c


	8. When Your Heart Was Open Wide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see! Sorry for the long wait (which is the usual at this point), but it's a Big chapter, this one. And not just in size—a lot happens, and I've been anticipating it for a while now. And I finally got it to a place where I'm pretty happy with it, so I'm calling it done. 
> 
> The semester is coming to a close soon, which means it's about to get even more hectic. So I have no idea when the next chapter will come out, but probably not for a while, unfortunately. Thank you for sticking around, anyway, and thank you for your patience <3
> 
> Also, shout out to my beta Tenenial! She has wonderful writing and you guys should definitely check her stuff out ^-^ 
> 
> And finally, onto the story!

Thus far, things were going well. There was no catastrophe at the library, Prompto seemed genuinely interested in what Ignis had to say (and didn't shy away from Ignis’ magic), and the house hadn't burned down in the time Ignis was gone. The chicken stock hadn't caught fire on the stove, and was even coming along to smell lovely—the soup to come from it was sure to be spicy and flavourful. No lightning came and struck them down. No one tried to mug them. Everything was lovely, so far.

Still, Ignis couldn't help but feel worried that something was bound to happen. They say things happen in thirds, and the third is the worst. But then again, sometimes third time's the charm; perhaps this date would be the one where it didn't end negatively? He wasn't sure. He tried to hope for the best while mentally assessing every situation for what could go wrong.

Prompto didn't seem to notice Ignis’ stress. He was too busy looking at anything and everything, which was a blessing.

But then again, perhaps he was distracted? Was something on Prompto’s mind, something potentially problematic? Or was Ignis just being paranoid, and Prompto was only being as distracted and curious as he usually is?

Ignis wasn't certain. He was overthinking this, he knew it. But he just...he wasn't certain.

Standing in his kitchen doorway—having just finished the last bit of prep he had to do for the soup—Ignis focused on the shorter man, trying to ignore his own swirling anxieties.

Prompto was carefully inspecting the assorted items on the fireplace mantel. He bowed his head around a Tenebraen kettle Ignis’ grandmother gifted him, back when he'd started studying Divination. Prompto seemed interested in the patterns, and Ignis’ heart swelled at how careful he was in his inspection—even though he was curious, he didn't dare pick it up.

“It was my great-grandmother's, originally,” Ignis said, and Prompto jumped back like he'd been caught doing something wrong. “It's almost a family heirloom, really. She'd practiced Divination independently, and taught my grandmother what she knew. It was my grandmother who gave it to me, when I picked up the business where my father did not.”

“Wow,” Prompto raised his eyebrows, peering at the teapot again, “that's way older than I thought it was. I just thought it was pretty.”

Ignis smiled. “You may pick it up, if you'd like. It's hardier than it looks, and I'm not worried about it breaking.”

Prompto made a face. “Dude, didn't you just say it was, like, an heirloom?”

“Of sorts.” Ignis stepped into the living room, ignoring the small automaton standing sentinel next to the kitchen door. “Alas, it makes terrible tea.”

Prompto laughed. “Yeah, well,” he looked back at the kettle, “it's still pretty. And old. I don't wanna break something important.”

“I trust you to be careful.”

“Maybe you do, but I don't know if I, personally, trust these rusty—uh, rusty joints.” Prompto made a face, and Ignis wondered if was annoyed at himself for stumbling over his words, or if he was imagining himself breaking the teapot. “I'm fine looking from here,” he said in a strained voice.

“If you insist.” Ignis sat on the settee in front of the fireplace. “We have some time before the food is done. Do you have anything you wish to talk about?”

Prompto plopped down next to him. “Dude, you're asking me? You're the one who knows everything. You oughta know what to talk about.”

“Hardly.” Ignis put a hand on Prompto's knee. “It's your thoughts that I'm curious about.”

Prompto stared at the hand. “Uh.” He made a strange noise in his throat, and looked up at the fireplace again. “I, uh, I don't know.” He laughed nervously. “I'm not exactly thinking, right now.”

Ignis smiled. His nervousness was adorable, though Ignis was a little disappointed at the lack of blush on Prompto's cheeks. Perhaps he was wearing makeup? Or perhaps Ignis needed to try harder.

“I'm sure there's something going through that beautiful mind of yours,” Ignis said, taking Prompto's hand. “You don't need to be shy. I want to hear it.”

“Um, I dunno.” He glanced at Ignis, then around the room. Then he smiled a little. “Actually, there _is_ something.”  He squeezed Ignis’ hand. “I didn't expect the lace.”

Ah. Right. Ignis peered warily at the various doilies and lace furnishings decorating the room, and tried to not feel embarrassed over how...floral everything was. “My Uncle insisted that I bring something to remind me of Tenebrae when I left. He specializes in lace spinning.” He shook his head. “He has since sent me more, every year for my birthday. I've done with it what I can.”

He confined it to one room, is what he meant.

Which of course meant that after several years of birthdays in Lucis, it was beginning to be a lot. But Ignis refused to let it leave what he periodically called the Lace room. It was expensive, lovingly-made material, so he couldn't hide it away completely—it wouldn't be right of him. That didn't mean he wanted to see it all the time, though.

Gladio was a fan of flowers. Ignis was not.

“I spend most of my time in my kitchen, my office, or my bedroom,” Ignis continued. “I'll admit I don't visit the sitting room very often, so I somewhat forget that this is the state of it.”

Prompto was smiling crookedly at him. “Well, I think it's nice.”

“Nice,” Ignis echoed dryly. “Yes, many guests find it charming. Or that's what they say to my face, in any case.”

Prompto laughed. “No, it _is_ nice! This room is like, your family room. Little pieces of home.”

Ignis paused. He looked over at the cups his mother molded, sitting on the mantle next to porcelain pieces his father painted. Above the fireplace hung a painting they sent to him that looked like the tall, dark forests of Tenebrae. He thought about the lace his uncle wove, the teapot. “I suppose it is.” He wondered when that happened, exactly.

He also wondered when he stopped visiting the room, and if the two points were connected at all. He hoped not. Was he avoiding thinking about home? He hadn't noticed—

“Its super fancy, I'm sure lots of people are jealous of your rich stuff. I personally like how light it is,” Prompto continued, oblivious to Ignis’ inner turmoil. “So much in Insomnia is so dark. This is so pretty and freeing, compared to it all.”

“Even if it does clash with my personal tastes,” Ignis said, half-automatically, “I can agree.” He pulled himself from his mental maze—he'd consider his unintentional alienation from Tenebrae later—and instead looked at Prompto with a new look of appreciation. The younger man smiled at Ignis, oblivious to the way Ignis marveled at how he seemed to see things so fundamentally differently from Ignis.

But this subject also made Ignis curious. He decided to take a chance with a question that had been eating at him for days now. “What about you? What's your family like?”

Prompto froze.

Ignis ignored his immediate desire to backpedal and apologize, choosing instead to give Prompto the space and time to to think of a response. He could see from the way Prompto dropped his eyes that his assumptions about Prompto's home life were correct; whatever it was, it wasn't ideal. He also knew it was likely a touchy subject. But he also wanted to know more.

His name wasn't fire because he was one to flounder at difficult conversations.

“It's...complicated?” Prompto dropped Ignis' hand to rub the back of his head, his arm creating a barrier between Ignis’ eyes and his. “I don't really know what to say.”

“I understand,” Ignis said as kindly as he could. “You don't have to explain it if you truly don't want to. However, I can't help but feel I don't know you very well. If we are to move this relationship forward, I would like to know more about you.”

“Forward...” Prompto whispered. He dropped his arm, looking at Ignis with sad eyes. “Ignis—” He faltered.

Oh, no. “Yes, Prompto?”

He opened his mouth, closed it, and looked away. “I don't—really have a family, I guess.”

Something told Ignis that wasn't what Prompto was originally going to say. “I believe you said your father got you your job with the show? You could start there.”

Prompto shrugged. “Like I said, it's complicated.”

Ignis may have wanted answers, but he knew when to take a hint. Perhaps Prompto's family life was worse than Ignis feared. “You don't have to talk about your family then, Prompto.” He considered. “There’s other ways we could learn about each other. You can tell me about your hobbies, or some childhood friends. I can start, if that helps.”

Prompto's voice was quiet. “There really wasn't much, before.”

This was going poorly. “I apologize, Prompto. I did not wish to make you uncomfortable, let alone upset. I…” He sighed. Perhaps it was time to switch gears. “You are so full of light, Prompto, like a constellation in the night. I forget that the stars must first travel through eons of darkness before they gift us with their light.”

Prompto was reacting with stammered non-words before Ignis even finished his sentence. “Th-that’s not—I'm not—I—” Prompto suddenly seemed to see the slight blush Ignis felt reddening his cheeks, because he ducked his head away, laughing into his shoulder. “I might not be from Insomnia,” he said, a grin in his voice, and Ignis smiled helplessly at him, “but I’m pretty sure people don’t just _say_ things like that.”

“Perhaps not, but I do. And I mean it.” Prompto took Ignis’ hand as he spoke. “I’ve never met anyone like you before. I feel blessed to be able to witness your light.”

Prompto shook his head, smile fading a little. “You’re...unbelievable. I’m no constellation, or light, or...”

“I would be inclined to disagree.”

Prompto looked at him with softening eyes. “And my life hasn't been eons of darkness, either. It's just...complicated.”

“Forgive me Prompto, but I do not understand. I hope that someday I will.” Ignis squeezed Prompto's hand before standing up. “I'll take this moment to find a suitable distraction, and I hope we can move on.”

“Uh, sure.”

Prompto had no idea what Ignis was planning, which was according to plan. It also meant Prompto wasn't focusing on feeling sad, which was an improvement.

Ignis went to his bedroom and grabbed the box that sat on his bed. It had a red ribbon tied around it into a neat, but easy to untie, bow.

Ignis paused before re-entering the sitting room to look at Prompto. He was peering down at his hand, remarkably still except for the way that he was slowly opening and closing his fingers. The light was streaming through the lace curtains on the window, bathing him in the golden light of the setting sun. It draped over him in such a way that made the scene appear beautiful and tranquil—or it would, if it weren't for the fact Ignis couldn't read Prompto's expression.

This was a worrying pattern. As much as the fact that Prompto kept surprising Ignis was enjoyable, it was also—difficult. He was slowly realising that he couldn't read Prompto, and the number of moments where he couldn't understand what had happened were growing; the spirit attack, the many minor shifts in the man's emotions, how quickly he stopped being afraid of Ignis’ magic, the fact he always wore a jacket, and the whole debacle at the park with Miss Highwind. And those were only the major ones. Some were big, some were small.

Even that day, Prompto had left the theatre very quickly, almost having to drag Eyeball along. The silent doll hadn't seemed to want to leave, or at least didn't want to he around Ignis. The smile when Prompto said the dolls didn't always listen seemed to be genuine, but his voice sounded harried. Ignis didn’t know what any of this meant.

But then Prompto spotted him in the doorway and smiled, so Ignis told himself that he was simply over-worrying. He was prone to it, he knew.

“Admiring the view?” Prompto asked lightly. He sounded far more relaxed than before.

“One should appreciate the finer moments in life,” he answered, hopefully in a light tone. Prompto smiled a perfect smile, like it came as naturally to him as breathing. Like nothing was wrong. Like they hadn’t just had a difficult conversation a few minutes ago. Like he wasn't a puzzle that Ignis felt he had the wrong pieces to.

He tried to take the easy positivity as a blessing, not as a sign of something darker being hidden.

“I come bearing a gift,” he said, lifting the box.

Prompto's eyes widened, then squinted. “It isn't like, cupcakes or something, right?”

Ignis came to sit next to him. “Would it be better if they were spicy cupcakes?”

“Spicy..?” Prompto turned his head. “Colour me intrigued.”

“Alas, this is not a box of spicy cupcakes.” He did mentally jot the idea down, however. “I apologize if that disappoints you.”

“You've mortally wounded me,” Prompto said as Ignis handed the box over. He was smiling down at it, but there was something in his eyes. A thought Ignis couldn't read. “What is it?”

Ignis thought he should be the one asking that. “You will have to open it to see,” he said instead.

Prompto put his hand on the bow, tugging the ribbon without untying it. Simply fiddling. “Why a present?” His voice was soft. “I didn't...get you anything.”

“I felt you deserved it.” Ignis watched his eyes. “If you need a reason, think of it as a thank you for giving me a chance. For the gift of your presence.” Ignis smiled. “Presents for your presence.”

Prompto glanced up at him, whatever was in his eyes lessening, and he smiled more broadly. “I thought we might get through one date without puns. Nope.” He pulled the ribbon off.

Prompto paused at the sight of the blue and purple cloth cleanly folded inside the box, and Ignis willed his heart to stop beating. He picked it up inquisitively, revealing more of the shape. His eyes widened.

“You…” He pulled it out fully, revealing the long blue coat, hemmed with purple and teal embroidery. It was a little shorter than Prompto's usual attire, closer to a peacoat than a trenchcoat, but it was the longest one Ignis could find. “You got me a jacket?”

“You told me that you didn't have much clothing. I thought that, since you seem to be so cold all the time, you might as well have a variety of coats to wear indoors.” Ignis adjusted his glasses as Prompto continued to stare at it. “You seem to like the colour of the sky, and it matches your eyes, so—I understand if it's not your colour, you don't have to wear it—”

Prompto tackled Ignis into a hug hard enough that his glasses almost flew off. “It's _perfect_.” Prompto buried his face into Ignis’ shoulder. “No one's ever…this is the nicest present anyone's ever given me. I love it.”

Ignis fixed his glasses from the precarious position they'd taken on his nose, giving himself a moment to recover from the shock of Prompto's unrestrained...well, touchiness. He was used to interacting with people at an arm's length, literally. “I'm relieved to hear that,” he said, sincerely. “Would you like to try it on?”

Prompto drew back with a grin. “Do you even have to ask?”

“Clearly not,” he said, watching Prompto lean down to pick up the box from where it fell on the floor.

“Astrals, I hope it fits me.” Prompto held it up, inspecting the full length of it.

“As do I.” Ignis had guessed that Prompto was about Noctis’ size, and had taken him along for help. Noctis had been all too happy to leave the Citadel for a few hours to go window-shopping.

“Eh, it should be fine.” Prompto went to unbutton his jacket, then paused. “Oh. Uh.” He looked at Ignis. “Do you mind, uh, turning around? For the...reveal?”

“Of course not, dear,” Ignis said as he turned in his seat, his back now to Prompto. But at Prompto's request, Ignis worried. He hoped that Prompto wasn't so shy because he had horrible scars or something—perhaps from a demon attack? There were many rabid spirits in Niflheim due to their industrialization of their forests, after all. But Prompto hadn't seemed emotionally scarred from anything like that, so maybe he really did just want a big reveal—

“Um, you can look now.” Ignis turned towards Prompto again. He threw his arms out. “Ta-da!”

Prompto stood in the light, making the embroidered patterns shine alongside his hair. Ignis had picked it because he thought the colours matched Prompto's eyes, but he hadn't realised how well. His eyes almost seemed to shift in hue as they caught the light, and the jacket shifted similarly. It sat on Prompto like it was made for him, revealing a more lithe form that Ignis had realised Prompto had under his old, large, unwieldy jacket.

“You look beautiful,” Ignis confessed.

Prompto looked surprised, then he laughed a little. “Oh man,” he scratched the back of his head with a shy grin. “You're gonna make me blush.”

Ignis didn't see any blush, but he appreciated the idea. In fact, he was going to give it a good old Scientia try. He stood, striding over to Prompto. He put his hand on Prompto's cheek, tilting his head to meet his eyes.

“Ignis?” Prompto squeaked.

“You're stunning, Prompto,” Ignis murmured.

“O-oh.”

Ignis leaned closer, but he didn’t close the distance completely. “May I…?”

Prompto’s eyes were such a bright shade of blue, layered with deep shades of near-violet and highlights of teal. They were wide, looking between Ignis’ own. Prompto opened his mouth, closed it. “Yes,” he whispered.

Ignis pressed his lips to Prompto's—while they were surprisingly cold, Ignis felt a chill for another reason. It was like a spark of magic ran through Ignis, a thrill of electricity that was different from anything he'd ever experienced before.

As he pulled away, Prompto breathed “Oh,” and trailed after him.

Their second kiss was just as gentle, and though the spark—the excitement—was still there, it wasn’t nearly as startling. But it still thrummed through Ignis, and he found himself quite unable to do anything but lean into it.

As he deepened the kiss, Prompto laid his hand against Ignis’ chest. He wondered if Prompto could feel his heartbeat, because he felt like his heart was rattling around quite strongly. He traced his hand from Prompto's cheek, down his neck, going to cup the back of Prompto's head—when Prompto pulled away suddenly, stumbling back a few steps.

Prompto stared at him with wide eyes, hand clasping his neck. Ignis’ hands hovered in the air where they just held him. Slowly, he dropped his hands, and Prompto's expression changed. The emotion was back in his eyes, the one Ignis couldn't quite place.

“You—you made me forget.” Prompto looked down, tugging at the sleeves of his jacket with a small smile. “You always manage to make me forget.”

“Forget what, Prompto?”

And when Prompto looked up at him, Ignis finally understood what emotion was hidden behind his eyes.

Regret.

“I can't do this, Ignis.” He hugged his arms to himself. “I'm not a—I'm an—” He closed his eyes. “I'm leaving Insomnia soon. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done this. I...”

Ignis’ thoughts faltered—how had he never thought of this before? How deeply did he want to be around Prompto that he ignored something as obvious as the fact he was in a travelling show? How oblivious was he to the reality of the situation—

“We can keep in touch,” Ignis found himself saying.

“What?” Prompto frowned. “How? By mail? I don't have an address.”

Ignis’ mind was racing. He didn't want to let this go so easily. “Do you have a town you visit frequently? Someone there who could hold onto your mail for you?”

Prompto shook his head. “No. This is only the third time I've visited Insomnia, and this place is huge. What town could I possibly visit more?”

“I could travel more—”

Prompto sighed. “Ignis.”

“—trust the stars to lead us together—”

“Ignis, stop.” Prompto put a hand on Ignis’ arm. “You're a smart man. You know this isn't gonna work.”

He wasn't one to give up easily, either. Not when it was something he believed in. “Could you stay?” Ignis tried. “You don't seem particularly attached to Izunia Productions, and there's still much you haven't seen of Insomnia.”

“I—what?” Prompto looked stunned. “That's—I can't.”

“Why not? Mr. Izunia has the dolls to help him, does he not? I'm sure it could get lonely for him to only be near dolls, but this was the profession he chose. Not the one you chose.”

Slowly, Prompto's expression turned from wide-eyed to...regretful? Sad? He dropped his hand from Ignis’ arm. “I can't leave him. I have an important job, and no one else would have me.”

“I would have you.” Ignis frowned. “And even if I wouldn't, there are many people who would love to have you around. I'm certain of this.” He gently touched Prompto's arm. “Who made you think you're unwanted?”

Prompto looked away. “You don't know the real me, Ignis.” He fidgeted with his gloves. “You wouldn't want me, if you knew.”

Ignis opened his mouth to refute that, but then he realised—Prompto was right. At least, on some level. He didn't know the man’s story at all. That was what had made the conversation so difficult earlier, was it not? “You're right,” he said softly, dropping his hand. “But I want to know the real you. Is that so wrong?”

Slowly, Prompto met Ignis’ eyes. “I think…we should try to enjoy the time we have left together, and leave it at that.”

And finally, Ignis had no other suggestions. He felt frustrated, wanting to argue more, but he knew that pushing it wouldn't convince Prompto. Not until he had something more substantial to offer. “If that's what you wish.” He inhaled, straightening his back. “I shall check the soup. It should be cooled enough by now, so we can begin eating.”

“Okay,” Prompto said quietly. Then, as Ignis passed Eyeball in the doorway, he called “And I'm—I'm sorry, Ignis, I really am.”

Ignis paused. “I understand. I'm not happy, but I understand.” He looked at Prompto with what he hoped was a reassuring expression. “We didn't have many options for how this would end. But it was lovely, nonetheless.”

“Yeah,” Prompto said, looking small in the middle of the sitting room. “Yeah…”

Ignis felt badly for leaving him there, but he wasn't sure what else to do.

 

* * *

 

Prompto left after dinner. Ignis continued to be polite and kind to him, which was more than Prompto thought he deserved. He'd even made spicy soup, something strong enough that Prompto could taste it, with different spices and flavours than he was used to trying.

Prompto had stood in the doorway for their goodbyes, feeling a little uncomfortable with the food in his stomach. It was more than he’d eaten in a long time—possibly ever. He remembered draping his old coat over his arm, asking Ignis if he wanted the beautiful blue one back.

“Keep it, it was meant for you.” Ignis smiled in that slight way of his, barely noticable if you aren't looking for it. “I hope it will bring you far.”

And while Prompto thought they said goodbye afterwards, some tiny farewell that didn't encompass what he felt, he couldn't remember it. All he remembered was Ignis’ smile, his kindness.

It was stuck in his mind. _I hope it will bring you far._

Prompto felt horrible. He knew it had to end—it had to happen eventually. Really, it never should have even started. He wasn't human, after all—he didn't know what he was, exactly, but he knew he wasn't supposed to be around people. He was some sort of monster, probably.

No, he knew he was a monster. He knew it the moment he heard the life leave Ignis’ voice, the moment he gave up on Prompto. When he let go of any hope that this...this _mess_ could move forward.

He knew it when Ignis said his goodbyes, because his smile wasn't real.

He’d known it for a while, really.

He shouldn't have started this. Ardyn was right, he should have stayed away. Though Ardyn was wrong about _why_ Prompto should stay away—he was a danger to humans, not the other way around. He'd hurt Ignis, when he never should have been in a position to be able to do that.

“Why can I talk?” Prompto asked Eyeball, who was easily keeping up to Prompto's lethargic walk. It even was walking a little ahead of him, possibly trying to get him back sooner. “Why can’t I be like you guys? Besithia should have made me mute. I'd hurt less people like that.” He sighed. He knew why Besithia gave him a voice—and a realistic body, and a face that took months to make perfect. There was no way he would have ever made Prompto mute.

He needed to be accurate, after all. Indistinguishable from real. Besithia would never have messed that up by making Prompto mute.

As he turned down a street, he knew he was getting close to the theatre, given the shift from houses to businesses. He was going to have to put his old jacket on again soon, to cover the new one before Ardyn saw. He wondered what he could do with it...maybe he could hide it in with the costumes? The blue would blend in pretty well with the other colours. Ardyn might not notice.

“And what about you?” he continued. “Do you want to be able to talk? How much do you even think?”

As always, Eyeball didn't answer.

“Yeah, that's what I thought.” He sighed. “I hope you can't think enough to want to be able to speak. Seems like it'd be horrible. Uh, even though I just said I wish I were mute.” He frowned, pausing to let some masked children pass by him. “How different _are_ we? How much do you understand? I wish I knew. I wish…” What, exactly? That they could discuss their existence together? That he had someone else who understood? He didn't know.

“It's not like it matters,” he muttered, turning down an alley that would lead onto the theatre’s street. “I can't change what you are any more than I can—”

Someone jumped out from behind a crate and tackled Eyeball. Prompto froze, and before he could react, a hand covered his mouth. Another grabbed him by the shoulder. He was being pulled between two tall crates, and finally the panic set in.

He tried to struggle out of his attacker's grip, but more hands grabbed him. Eyeball was being held to the ground, and the person—a man, Prompto thought, a vaguely familiar one wearing black—started pulling its jacket off. What the _fuck_. Were they going take Prompto’s off too? He didn't want to be outed in public as a doll—

The man opened Eyeball’s back and tore out its core.

Prompto screamed against the hand. He stopped thinking, just reacted—kicked at the ankles of the ones holding him, and tried to tear his arms out of the hands holding him.

“Calm your _tits_ you fuck!” someone hissed in his ear.

He didn't. He kept kicking, pushing back against them, twisting himself in a way that he could feel his joints weren't happy about.

The one on Eyeball stood up. He turned to Prompto, stepped closer, lifted his hands—Prompto sobbed. He didn't want his jacket taken. He didn't want to die or—or overwritten, or whatever happened next—

Instead of touching Prompto, the man rolled down his own scarf to reveal clockwork.

Very, very familiar clockwork.

Prompto felt like the gears in his head were grinding to a halt.

“Shh, it's alright,” the man—no, automaton, that's a _fucking_ automaton—said. “We're not gonna hurt you.”

“Not unless you pull your own fuckin’ arms out,” a woman grumbled. “Fuck, dude, what's wrong with you?”

“I'm going to take my hand off your mouth now,” another man said into Prompto's ear. “You promise not to start hollering if I do?”

Prompto was still staring wide-eyed at the automaton in front of him, but he managed to nod. He felt like his mind was floating away. After a moment, the hands holding him lifted, and he stood there dumbly.

“Wow,” Aranea stepped out in front of him, “we really broke him huh?”

“He'll be okay,” said the other man, who was wearing white. He looked really similar to the other one, physically—gods, no wonder they looked familiar, back at the park. They had Besithia’s trademark face, the cheekbones and jaw that he gave to all his dolls. Even Prompto had traces of it.

“Y-you're both dolls,” he stammered. “You—you're the ones who went missing—” His eyes widened, and he jerked away from Aranea. “You're the thief who stole the old stars!”

Aranea rolled her eyes. “Ohh yeah, I totally stole them.”

“We left willingly,” the one in white said.

“We escaped,” the other said.

“It took a lot of effort, honestly. Which we'll get into.” A white-gloved hand reached out. “I'm Biggs. This is Wedge. You already met Aranea.”

Prompto slowly took the hand, and Biggs gave it two quick shakes.

“Nice to properly meet you, sorry it was in such poor conditions.” He gave a small smile—six, is that what Prompto looked like when he smiled? It didn't look quite right, quite human, and it wasn't helping Prompto's anxiety. “I wish we'd seen you at the park, this would have went much smoother. But then again,” he looked back at Eyeball, “maybe it's best that this one didn't see us.”

This was too much at once. He managed a strained “What?” before he looked at Eyeball and added “Why the fuck did you _do_ that?”

Biggs gave him a look like it was the most obvious thing in the world, which Prompto could attest that literally nothing about this situation was obvious. “We couldn't let them see us.”

“Why not?” Prompto tried to back away from them a bit, but there was limited space between the crates. “Why did you kill it?”

“I didn't kill them,” Wedge said, affronted.

“We've repaired each other many times,” Biggs clarified. “While we had to do a quick job of getting the core out, the lil’ guy should be fine.”

“Have faith that we didn’t just destroy one of our siblings,” Wedge said.

“Okay.” Prompto tried to collect himself. “Okay. But why?”

Aranea and Wedge were looking at him like it was obvious again, though Biggs looked confused.

He tugged off his white hat, like he needed the extra space to think. “He…” Biggs looked at the others. “He doesn't know about the dolls.”

“Damn, Izunia really kept you in the dark didn't he?” Aranea looked him up and down, and Prompto shrunk back under her scrutinizing stare. “He really put a lot of effort in this time, looks like. Must be a strong one.”

“He probably didn't want to lose something so powerful,” Wedge said. “Got more careful after we escaped, more secretive.”

“Psychopath,” Aranea muttered.

“How much has he kept from you?” Biggs asked quietly. He looked a little sad, holding his hat to his chest, and Prompto didn't like it.

“I don't know.” He hunched his shoulders, ducking his face into his scarf a bit. The three of them were too close to him, crowding him. He wanted space. “I apparently don't know anything, and you three know everything.”

They glanced at each other.

“Don't be mad at us,” Aranea said with a raised eyebrow. “Izunia is the bastard who lied to you.”

“Don't call him that,” Prompto snapped. “Ardyn has been kind to me.”

They stared at him.

“Oh dear,” Biggs breathed.

“Fuck Ardyn,” Wedge deadpanned.

Prompto opened his mouth to disagree, but before he could Biggs exclaimed “Wedge! Don't make yourself his enemy.”

“I'm not gonna pretend Ardyn is a good guy.” Wedge crossed his arms. “Fuck him.”

“Prompto is clearly attached, so we should—”

“Let's get to the point,” Aranea interrupted.

Biggs looked at her with something like trepidation, but Prompto spoke before he could. “Yeah, let's. What do you want?” He looked between them, frowning. “Besides attacking my friend and scaring the shit out of me.”

Aranea sighed. “Relax, we really aren’t your enemy. We're here to help.”

“Help, how?”

She gestured to Biggs, who took the lead. “Right. So, I'm sure you've noticed by now that it is very hard to leave Ardyn. It's almost like a physical pull drawing you back to him, yes?”

Prompto squinted. He hadn't really noticed that. “No?”

Biggs opened his mouth, shut it. “You...no?”

“Hold up.” Aranea put her hands in the air. “Hold _up._ Did you never try to leave him?”

“I mean I've wandered away, like today, but I've never like...run away.” He looked between their shocked, and affronted, faces. “What?”

Wedge shook his head, a dark look to his eyes. “What did he _do_ to you?”

“He's able to talk, so maybe he already has control..?” Biggs trailed off.

“Or Ardyn's getting creative,” Aranea grumbled. “Look, maybe you haven't noticed it, but I'm sure it's there. If not a pull, then _something._ Something is trapping you.”

Prompto frowned. “I mean, I don't have anywhere else to go, if I wanted to leave. Is that what you mean?”

“I mean like magic.” Aranea gestured vaguely. “Something holding you there against your will.”

“No, no, just wait a tick,” Biggs said. “Social entrapment could do it. It’s a little different, but it could work.”

“Are you serious?” Aranea looked at him. “He doesn't have any magic holding him?”

“We may not have escaped if we never met you,” Wedge admitted. “And we had each other. He's alone.”

Aranea heaved a sigh. “Right. Well, you don’t have anywhere to go? We could take you with us, if you want. Might be a bit hard to sneak with such a big group, though…”

Prompto tensed. They weren’t trying to take him, were they? Force him into it? “I don't want to leave Ardyn. He's been good to me—”

“Kid—” Aranea started.

“—he taught me to read. He took me in when Besithia kicked me out!”

She squinted at him. “Well, I'm sorry it's such a horrible idea.” He didn’t know how to read her tone.

“Besithia kicked you—?” Biggs shook his head. “Nevermind. I don't know what your situation is—”

“And we don't need to. Let's just give him the information he needs to escape, and leave him to do his soul searching himself.” Aranea levelled them with an commanding stare. “He’s in denial, so we aren't helping here. He’ll have to figure out that Ardyn is shit in his own time.”

Biggs and Wedge looked at her, searching for something, and they seemed to find whatever it was. Somewhere at the back of his mind, Prompto realised him being bad at silent conversation had nothing to do with him being an automaton, but that he was just bad at it. He ignored the thought.

Wedge started. “You are a spirit that Ardyn trapped.” He held up Eyeball's core, which sat bright against his dark gloves. “These power the dolls. They’re also you.”

Prompto frowned. “That's not what Ardyn told me.”

“Then he lied,” Wedge said flatly, still holding the core up like he was about to continue.

“What did he tell you?” Biggs asked, and Wedge shot him a look.

Prompto paused. “I thought—” He looked between their faces, feeling anxiety over admitting something he'd never said out loud before. “Ardyn told me that I—that he'd never attempted spirit magic before. He said I was the first, and didn't know what I was.”

Wedge frowned. “You knew?”

“No I—I mean I—I knew I had _something_ inside me, but...” He looked at Eyeball, laying face-down in the dirt. “All of them are like that?”

“Yes, all of us.” Wedge put the core in his pocket, then tapped his chest. “I’m a spirit, he’s a spirit, we’re all spirits. Welcome to the family.”

Prompto didn’t feel sure. “I knew he summoned something to power me. I thought that—I was the only one.”

“Well, he lied,” Aranea said flatly.

“Why?”

“Don't know. That's for you to figure out.” She gestured to Biggs. “Let's keep this going.”

“Inside of you—both crystal and body,” Biggs finally put his hat back on, “are inscriptions. They're making you weaker, forcing you to stay, and—or, well. They forced _us_ to stay, and prevented us from speaking.”

“I've never had trouble speaking,” Prompto said. There was a fleeting second where he wanted to joke that he has a hard time shutting up, but it didn't feel appropriate.

“You might have other restrictions in place,” Biggs guessed. “I'm not sure.”

Prompto thought of when he'd get grounded. The days he couldn't move. The disconnect. “Oh.” He opened his mouth, shut it. That was a physical thing, wasn't it? How could that be magic? He spoke hesitantly, “Did you guys ever get grounded?”

The automatons gave him knowing looks, which he had a hard time meeting. “No,” Biggs said. “No, and I’m not going to ask what that is. But you can break these restrictions, whatever they are, I’m sure of it. It’ll take a lot of effort and time, but it's possible.”

“Every spell can be broken,” Wedge agreed.

“Right...okay.” Prompto nodded slowly. He didn’t fully believe what they were saying, but that sounded true enough. “How do I break it?”

The following silence wasn't promising.

“Ehh, well…”

Wedge shrugged. “You just kind of have to feel it out.”

“Yeah, unfortunately it's...really hard to explain.” Biggs put his palm over his own chest. “Find where your limitations are. Believe in your magic, and chip away at your bindings.”

“Magic?” Prompto hesitated. “But...what if I don't have magic?”

Wedge shook his head. “Every spirit has magic.”

“What if I'm a human?”

Wedge smiled a little. “I really doubt that.”

But Prompto wasn't sure. That had been Ardyn's goal, hadn't it? He couldn't imagine that Ardyn had lied about _everything._ “Why are you so confident that I'm a spirit, not a human ghost? And what if my magic isn't strong enough to—to break out?”

“It's not possible to bring humans back,” Biggs said gently. “If it was, I don't think they'd turn out right.”

“Oh.” Prompto fidgeted. But he was...supposed to be human…so maybe he really was something awful? What if Ardyn tried to get a human, and got something else? What if that was why he was able to speak and wander, because he was something else—?

“And your magic _will_ be strong enough.” Biggs said it with enough confidence that Prompto wanted to believe it. He wasn’t sure he could, though. Not when there was so much here he couldn’t quite believe. Biggs continued, “With a body like that, I'm sure you could do anything.”

Prompto had no fucking clue what that meant. “Okay?”

Biggs smiled slightly. “For some reason, we seem to be stronger the more realistic we are. Or that's our theory, anyway, since only Wedge and I were able to get out. Our thoughts are that our spirits accepted the body more, or something. So we became one with it,” he gestured back to Eyeball, “unlike the dolls, who have weird bodies that they reject. They recede further into their crystals instead of extending out.”

“We grew stronger in our bodies the longer we were in them,” Wedge said. “We were able to get out once we owned them.”

Prompto didn't think that made any sense, and it must have shown on his face because Aranea spoke up. “They've had a lot of time to think about it. Trust me, that's the most likely theory they've come up with. All of them sound crazy.”

“Alright.” He gave up, since there was no way any of this was going to start making sense any time soon. “Do you have anything else you want to tell me?”

“That about covers it, I think.” Biggs looked at the other two, who shrugged. “Right. I think that’s all, then.”

They told him they were still at the Exalted Gardens most days, or around there if not specifically inside it. They’d be there for another week at most, if he wanted to find them. But after that, they wished him luck. Before they left, Wedge showed him how to place the core back into Eyeball, and showed him the angle that was best for it. They asked him to wait thirty seconds for them to get away before starting the doll up, so he looked at Eyeball while he waited.

It did seem that, despite how quickly he did it and how violent it looked, Wedge did a pretty clean job with removing the core. Apart from the fact the latch holding Eyeball's back plates together was slightly bent, very little looked off.

Or, well, maybe not. Prompto sighed, looking down at the dirt and dust covering the doll from face to toes. Just, all the way down its front. If Ardyn somehow didn’t notice he was missing, then Eyeball being all dusty would definitely bring up questions. So Prompto brushed off the dust and dirt with his old coat, watching as Eyeball steadily whirred to life.

He remembered that sensation, the feeling of waking up—of gaining control over his limbs. He wondered if Eyeball was going through anything similar, and if it ever got nearly as comfortable in its body as Prompto was now. Apparently not, if Biggs and Wedge’s words were anything to go by.

Astrals, he really was beginning to believe them, wasn’t he? Or did he just want the dolls to be like him? Was he being overly sympathetic and lonely? Fuck, this was too much to think about in one day.

Eyeball opened its eyes, almost immediately looking at him. “Hey, man.” Prompto smiled weakly down at it. “How you doing? That must have been—”

It sat up so quickly that Prompto almost smacked it in the face.

“Whoa there!” He drew his hands back. It was looking around the alley like—well, like it was just attacked. Prompto softened. “Hey, you’re okay. Nothing's gonna hurt you.” Eyeball stood up unsteadily, and Prompto’s hands hovered. Did it need help walking? Was its balance messed up or something? “Hey—”

It turned on its heel and sprinted down the alley.

It took a second for Prompto to understand, but then he was scrambling up. “Whoa, wait!”  He threw his old jacket over his shoulders. “Fuck.” He put it on as quickly as he could, stumbling after Eyeball at the same time,. “Fuck!” He stopped when he reached the street, looking around the not-so busy street.

He spotted Eyeball making a beeline for the theatre, and sprinted after it.

He ran through the front doors to find Ardyn already striding out of the back rooms. Eyeball ran up next to him, grabbed his sleeve, and pointed emphatically at Prompto.

Prompto straightened and smiled at Ardyn, trying to look like he hadn’t just stumbled running through the front doors. He hoped the smile was passably real-looking. “Hello!”

Ardyn turned his head. There was none of that mischievous twinkle that lived in his eyes, none of the smile that Prompto grew familiar with during their travels. No, he didn’t look happy at all. In fact, he looked very, very unhappy. There was an anger in his eyes unlike any Prompto had ever seen before. Slowly, Prompto’s attempt at a smile faded.

Ardyn waltzed forwards slowly, hands behind his back. “And where were we, hm?” His voice was surprisingly sweet.

Prompto lowered his eyes, knowing what was coming. “I was just...out back for a bit.”

“Were you?” Ardyn drawled, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Well then, colour me surprised that you came in through the front.”

Prompto shrugged, still looking down. “I...I wanted to see the sunset. It's been a while since I...” his voice faltered. He struggled to continue, but it felt increasingly inappropriate to lie as the silence stretched on. Like Ardyn was daring him to, and he was just asking to be shut down.

Eventually, Ardyn seemed to have enough. “Prompto,” he said, voice shifting to show a simmering anger, “you should not lie to me.” He turned, bending a little to clutch Eyeball’s shoulder and look in its face. “And he is lying to me, isn’t he?” he asked it, saccharine. Eyeball nodded, peering up at Ardyn. He hummed sweetly, dangerously, as he straightened again, towering above Prompto at his full height. “Of course he’s lying to me. He is a rather dishonest thing, isn’t he?”

Prompto opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again.

“You should not lie to me,” Ardyn repeated. As he stepped into Prompto’s space, the light above him cast him into shadow. “And you should _not_ have left.”

Prompto stammered, “I'm s-sorry, it won't happen again, I'll stay home—”

“That was very dangerous.” Ardyn’s eyes almost seemed to be burning with the same fire as his voice. “You need to be more careful.”

Prompto messed up. He really, really messed up—Ardyn lifted his hand towards Prompto's face, and he flinched back—Oh, Astrals, was he going to be grounded? He knew it was coming, but he didn't want—but no, Ardyn wasn't reaching for Prompto's neck.

Instead, the maroon-haired man tugged on his collar, and Prompto looked down to see blue.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Ardyn pulled the collar of the blue coat out more, humming slightly. Prompto’s mind was racing with regrets, questioning why he didn’t wait to make sure he was fully covered first, why did he just chase Eyeball without thought, why didn’t he— “You're grounded,” Ardyn drawled, reaching behind Prompto's neck.

“Wait—” Prompto tried to pull away, but Ardyn grabbed his coat with his other hand. “Wait, no, I promise I won't leave again—” Ardyn’s hand went down past the scarf, to the opening in Prompto’s back, a very specific space that haunted Prompto. “Ardyn—”

He collapsed.

“No—”

Ardyn caught him.

“Please.”

He looked up at Ardyn, who held him close with his stern, shimmering gold eyes.

“Please, I won't leave again—I-I have nowhere to go—”

“I'm not listening to your lies this time, Prompto.” Ardyn shifted to pick him up, bridal style. “If I can't trust you, I need some guarantees. You are not leaving unless I allow you to, understand?”

Ardyn said it as if he had a choice anymore. But Prompto wasn't going to give up, not yet. “Ardyn, _please_.” He pulled at Ardyn's coat, trying to make the man look at him, to listen, but Ardyn carried him out without a glance. “Don’t ground me.” He took Prompto through the hall, and into the back room. _“Ardyn.”_

He put Prompto on the back of the carriage, but Prompto didn't let go. He drew back as much as he could, finally looking down at Prompto with a frown.

“I've learned,” Prompto said. “I've cut ties with him. I won't leave again.”

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, because Ardyn's eyes just got darker. “Give me the coat.”

Prompto pulled away from him at that. “What? No.”

He reached towards the top button, and Prompto slapped his hand away.

Ardyn levelled him with a stern stare. “Prompto.” He leaned close to Prompto's face. “Do not push this. I have no qualms about turning you off, if you continue to be uncooperative.”

Prompto wilted—his mind flooded with memories of the dark, of feeling trapped and unreal—then bristled. “At least let me take it off myself,” he hissed, beginning to shirk off the top coat.

Ardyn leaned back and let him. When he started taking off the blue coat—Ignis’ gift—Astrals above, he really couldn’t have kept it for one day, could he?—Ardyn's expression softened. “Darling,” he drawled, voice gentler than before, “I know you're unhappy. But you need to know how worried I was. I just want you to be safe—”

“A coat can't hurt me,” he snapped, shoving it into Ardyn's arms. “So why take it? Why not add it to the show? It's nice enough to work.”

Ardyn watched Prompto, analyzing, peering with those sharp eyes of his. Prompto tried to maintain eye contact, trying to not stand down.

Ardyn stepped back from the carriage, folding the coat. “Perhaps we could. If you behave, I'll let you have it back, after we leave Insomnia. For now,” he started walking away, “you need to keep your distance.”

Prompto called, “I won't forgive you if you destroy it. It's the only thing I own.”

Ardyn paused in the doorway. He didn't look back at Prompto. “You want to own things now?”

“I—I want something of my own.” _Something you can't touch,_ Prompto thought, and surprised himself by not shying away from the idea.

“You shouldn't feel want.”

“Well I _do,_ ” Prompto snapped. “Maybe you messed up making me, maybe I feel things I shouldn't, maybe there's a monster trapped inside my crystal instead of a human, but I _feel._ And I—I want to keep feeling.” Prompto squeezed his eyes shut. “And you aren't treating me like something that can feel.”

Ardyn stood there a moment longer, and Prompto wished he'd look at him, wished that he could see the man's face. He wished he knew what he was thinking. “I see,” Ardyn breathed, closing the door behind him.

Prompto stared at the door. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the carriage wall. He tried to ignore the numbness in his legs, and tried to not think at all.

He failed. He found himself worrying about the jacket, and thinking about Ignis, and feeling the weird sensation of the food still inside him. But he didn't want to think about the dinner, or Ignis, or anything like that.

So he tried to think about what Aranea and the automatons said, to wrap his head around it. He tried to feel his soul, his barriers—to find his limitations, whatever that meant. But he didn't feel anything. No barrier, no limiters, nothing—unless his inability to move was a barrier? He’d thought of it earlier, thought of being grounded as Biggs was describing things. But this was a physical thing, wasn’t it? Ardyn had disconnected his legs from his core? Astrals, he didn't understand. He just didn’t know. All this magic talk was much more Ignis’ expertise, and he wished he could ask the man his opinion. But he couldn't.

Gods, he was thinking about Ignis again.

He gave up on controlling it. He was allowed to feel sad, he decided. For a while, at least. Maybe that was the first step to finding the barriers, letting himself feel. Whatever. He thought he’d earned some self-pity time, after the storm that was the entire fucking day.

So Prompto thought about Ignis. He thought about all the things he didn't want to consider before, the harsh reality of what it would be like between them. No matter what happened, whether they stayed together or not, Prompto knew the ending would be the same.

He saw the man growing older, more handsome—he was certain Ignis would age well, like he was certain that the sky was blue, and that he didn't have a heart—Ignis’ hair turning grey and eyes becoming ever-more knowledgeable. Prompto saw himself, staying the same, dancing new dances while ultimately being the same routine, with the same smile and rusting hinges. He saw Ignis turning away, moving on, passing away.

And he knew Ignis would always turn away, move on, and die. The man would leave him if he knew what Prompto was, or he’d get bored of him after a while, or he’d find some nice person that he actually loved. He’d move on, get married, maybe raise a few kids. And then he’d die, and Prompto would still be here. In a strange body, with a strange mind, working some strange job for reasons he didn’t understand.

He wondered if the spirit in Starlight didn't die in an attempt to save their love, but to save themselves the pain.

 

* * *

 

In the silence after Prompto left, after he said no to Ignis’ offer to walk him home, Ignis considered everything that had happened. He looked at the pieces of the mystery surrounding Prompto, trying to understand what happened with a new perspective. Trying to understand _everything_ that happened with a new perspective. He was no longer in the middle of it all, so perhaps he could finally see the forest for the trees.

He looked at the tea cup sitting atop the mantle, remembering the cup Prompto drank at the park, the leaves sprinkled at the bottom. The unclear symbolism there, either beyond his skills or simply nonexistent. He considered the food, how little Prompto ate today and in general. He considered Prompto's connection to the theatre despite not having a clear role in it. He thought about the wide-eyed nature of the man, his inexperience, and his blindness to social cues. His mysterious childhood. The coat.

Prompto had once said that the dolls could eat, if they needed to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)c


End file.
